


Miss United States

by fictorium



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Inspired by a Movie, Miss Congeniality AU, beauty pageant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's beauty and she's grace... except, well... she's also Emma Swan, FBI Agent.</p><p>Domestic terrorism threats have put the Miss United States Pageant at risk, and their best option is sending a female agent undercover to expose the would-be bomber and protect the glamorous contestants.</p><p>Along the way Emma forms alliances with the enigmatic Miss Maine (Regina Mills), the warm and sensible Miss New York (Tamara) and the ever-so-slightly-drippy Miss Rhode Island (Mary Margaret Blanchard).</p><p>With Killian Jones running the op, backed up by her ex Neal, Emma knows the success rests on her being able to pass herself off as a beauty queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gorgeous fanart for SQBB, created by [saviorqueen](http://saviorqueen.tumblr.com).
> 
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> 

“Glad you could join us, Agent Swan,” Deputy Director Lucas called out as Emma tried to sneak in back of the morning briefing. “Good of you to tear yourself away from the Starbucks counter long enough.”

Emma took a sheepish bite of her bear claw before hip-checking Cassidy off the nearest desk to give her somewhere to sit.

“As I was saying,” Lucas continued, pointing back to the projected image of a scrawled letter. “The Citizen’s newest message is every bit as vague and incomprehensible as the others. We can’t afford for this one to only make sense after the fact, so I want you all to drop anything else you’re working on and make this your entire focus, at least for today. That changes when I tell you otherwise, not before.”

“And the SAC?” Jones piped up, shit-eating grin plastered across his face, in the midst of that designer stubble that should probably be against uniform regulations. “Only you said the next case--”

“Was mine.” Emma interrupted, taking a pointed sip of her triple-shot latte. “Isn’t that right?”

“I did tell you that,” Lucas sighed. “However, that was before you ran up a $10k restaurant bill by letting a perp run out on you. And now he’s suing for you smacking his head on the steering wheel of his getaway car.”

“That’s bull--”

“Swan. You know that’s a third strike,” Lucas refused to budge. She hadn’t risen to be the first woman in her position by suffering fools, and Emma had finally been foolish one time too many. “Desk duty. You can manage the casefile for Agent Jones here, who’ll be taking point.”

Killian Jones fist-pumped at the announcement, and Emma almost vibrated with the urge to pump her own fist right into his smug face. The innuendo she could have lived with, the constant barrage of lewd remarks and invasion of personal space were pretty manageable. But him getting promoted over her, getting this huge headline-grabbing case when it should have been Emma? It made her want to puke, all over his pretentious brown loafers.

“Tough break,” Cassidy murmured, sidling up to her as the room started rearranging itself into an active incident room. “But hey, at least you make a pretty secretary.”

“Bite me,” Emma grunted. “Tell your boy Jones to drop all the paperwork by my desk when he’s done. I’m not gonna sit here and listen to him show off.” With that, she headed for the door, careful to wait until the Deputy Director was well on her way back to her own office.

“You’re not staying for the Citizen briefing?” David Nolan, her former trainer and unofficial father figure grabbed Emma’s arm just as she made a break for it.

“Not like he’s gonna teach us anything. I’m gonna go spend some quiet time with the letter, look for clues,” Emma muttered. “You want to come with?”

“I should stay,” David sighed. “Enjoy your desk duty, Emma.”

***

Desk duty was Emma’s excuse for taking an early lunch, or taking a lunch break at all. She crossed the street and ducked down an alleyway to her favorite drinking hole.

“Swan!” Ruby greeted her, vibrant red streaks showing in her dark hair again. When she’d been with the Bureau, Ruby Lucas had been the picture of subdued professionalism, following in her grandmother’s footsteps. Then a particularly gruesome serial killer case came along, and Ruby’s fiancé Peter, her mentor from back at Quantico, had been captured and, well… eaten. Partly. Emma shuddered even to think about it now.

Unsurprisingly, Ruby had handed in her badge and gun the day after the funeral, taking the insurance money left to her and using it to open this modest cop bar after a six-month trip around the world that Emma still hadn’t heard the whole story of.

“Hey, Rubes. I’ll take a pint.”

“Really? It’s early.” Ruby nodded at the clock on the wall that had the time barely hitting midday. Emma shrugged in response, and Ruby busied herself fixing Emma’s order. “Here you go,” Ruby announced, waving away Emma’s attempt at payment and setting an opened tub of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough, complete with spoon, down on the bar.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Emma sighed in contentment around her first mouthful. “You might want to stock up for the rest of the week.”

“Trouble at HQ?”

“Jones just got my case. I know she’s your Grams and all, but Granny Lucas really screwed me today.”

Ruby’s eyes flickered as her competing loyalties wrestled for a moment. Maybe it was the responsibility of running a busy bar, but she opted for the diplomatic answer, more than Emma could have mustered.

“She must have had her reasons.”

“Ruby!” Killian and his posse invaded the bar at the worst possible moment, causing Emma to groan into her hands. “We’ll take your working lunch special, sweetheart. There you are, Swan. Shouldn’t you be picking out a nice skirt and blouse to play secretary for me?”

“No way Emma even owns a skirt,” Neal snorted. “Can secretaries wear jeans and a Red Sox t-shirt?”

“Don’t forget the Uggs,” David supplied. “Sorry, Emma,” he added. “You’re my girl, you know that. But you’re not exactly fresh from the catwalks of Milan.”

“You assholes couldn’t have gone to Chipotle and left me to my sulk?” Emma asked. “Me and my men are spending some quality time together.”

“Men?” Jones asked in confusion, looking around the otherwise empty bar.

“She means Jerry,” Neal answered. “And Ben.”

“Solved the case yet, Jones? You know seven hours is the record for a virgin SAC, and you’ve already wasted three.”

“The punks in BAU are taking their damn time,” David said, waving down Ruby for his usual work hours order of a Shirley Temple. “Surprised you haven’t cracked it already out of spite.”

“I was gonna crack it on my lunch hour,” Emma replied, pulling the printout from her pocket. “So yeah, I guess I should put some effort into it.”

“We’ll be over there if you get a name. Or a shoe size,” Jones snorted, leading the team to a corner booth. Emma flipped him off before taking a big spoonful of cookie-laden ice cream goodness, and focusing on the letter in front of her.

Ten minutes, a bunch of scribbling in the margins, and most of the ice cream later, Emma fell off her stool in a failed attempt at a victory dance.

“No way,” Neal yelled across the bar. “I swear to God, if you’ve solved it already--”

“It’s the ‘Miss’,” Emma explained as she picked herself up, waving the paper at Jones all the way over to him. “The other letters he’s used the word ‘miss’ but never capitalized. I’m pretty sure his next target is the Miss United States pageant. Isn’t that next month?”

“It’s in three days,” Neal told them all, slurping down the rest of his Coke. “Ruby, better hold those lunches!”

“My boy Cassidy is right,” Jones agreed, like he thought of it. “You guys get back over there and scare up good old DD Lucas. I’ll be right with you.”

“You’re not even gonna say thank you?” Emma asked once the others had left.

“Last I checked, Swan, finding clues was in your job description,” Jones replied, leering at her as he slurped down the rest of his drink. “But don’t you worry that messy head of yours. I’ll be sure to save your blushes and take all the credit.”

“You’re a pig,” Emma spat. “You want me in the briefing or not?”

“You’re supposed to be there taking my notes. So let’s say yes.”

“Go to hell.”

“Don’t make me tell tales,” Jones warned. “That would be very bad form.”

“So would talking like you’re the lead in some hopeless chick flick. See you at the meeting, _boss_ ,” Emma practically spat the last words at him. She left before she could be tempted to add a decent slap to the mix.

***

The meeting, as ever, descended into a pissing contest before Emma had made her way to a seat. Talk of Tac Teams storming a convention center (not that anyone had checked which city was hosting the pageant yet) battled with pleading to be allowed to interview every woman in the contest during the swimsuit section. Emma rolled her eyes, hard.

Jones finally called for order, looking flustered as he stared at the papers David handed him.

“Okay, we only have a couple of days. So the first thing we want to, uh, I mean we should start with… well, it’s obvious that, uh…”

“Call the pageant organizer. And the network that is carrying it live,” Emma offered, hating herself for getting him out of a jam. “To let them know we’re coming, and to get them onside in case we need footage, or special access to any of the events.”

“Right,” Jones clicked his fingers at David, who jogged into the corner to make the calls. “Now, any of you nerds that did the extra law stuff… where are we on jurisdiction?”

Another squabble broke out, and Emma cursed under her breath. For the love of…

“We’ve had jurisdiction from the start,” she reminded the room in a not-quite-shout. “First crime committed on our patch, escalating and crossing state lines. But you know, you probably want to call local PD and the San Antonio field office, in case we need any manpower or equipment when we get down there.”

“You’re not going anywhere, desk monkey,” Jones snapped. “But while I’m dishing out orders, you, Fred, do what she said.”

“Just remember, when you’re down in Texas and I’m sitting here at my desk,” Emma added. “This guy wants to make a splash. He’s saving the biggest splash for last. But this dude is a coward, hiding in the shadows. You spook him with guns everywhere, he’ll pull back and wait for the Superbowl or something.”

“I think that’s enough out of you, Swan,” the Deputy Director said from the back of the room. Emma hadn’t even noticed her. “Jones, why don’t you take charge of your own meeting, hmm?”

“Of course,” he replied, with a little salute. “Before you started running your mouth off, Swan, I was going to suggest we put one of the attractive field agents in undercover.”

“I’ve got some experience in hair and makeup,” David offered. “Is that access enough?”

“Probably not,” Jones answered. “If this guy is as obsessed as we believe, he’ll want to get in places he’s been told he’s not allowed. That was, you know, in the profile, right?”

“We need a chick,” Neal surmised, grinning at the possibility. “Deputy Director, do we have permission to raid the staff files for a trained, hot lady agent?”

“If you update your vocabulary to this century, Cassidy. You and Jones, no one else. Any misuse of the information and you’ll both be kicked all the way to Texas. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then get a move on. I want you to have an agent by the time I get back from my meeting.”

***

Of course, the dickwads chose to work ‘privately’ at the desk next to Emma. Neal she could handle, although Emma hated his lingering crush on her, even ten years after their brief and ill-advised fling at Quantico. The puppy-dog eyes thing had barely done it for her then, and these days it left her closer to homicidal than turned-on. Who had time to fool around with a sloppy kisser anyway, when she was putting in a 70-hour week for the job?

“What about this Ashley in Narcotics?” Neal suggested, clicking through the files like he was browsing Sports Illustrated. “Ah, shit, never mind. She’s on maternity leave.”

“What about that chick from Trafficking?” Emma bit the end of her pen and pretended to be checking the calendar on the side of her cubicle. “Milo, wasn’t it?” Jones flicked through the files in pursuit of his own suggestion.

“Milah,” Neal corrected. “And she’d be just what we’re looking for, except she’s about three days from being booted out of the Bureau.”

“You’re kidding. Smart girl like her?” Jones almost looked genuinely upset for a moment. In fact, the longer she thought about it, the more Emma was convinced she’d seen that particular agent draped over Jones at the bar more than once.

“Yeah, turns out she had a relationship with one of the big bosses. It went south, she didn’t take it well… most of the report is redacted, so you know it’s juicy.”

“Well, best we don’t pry, Cassidy,” Jones huffed, closing the file and floundering around in his notes for a distraction.

“Here, put the DD in,” Neal snickered, and Emma watched them open another program, one that looked like the digital version of a dress-up Barbie game she’d always wanted as a kid, watching the other kids play with things like that which she kicked dirt around and pretended she hated all their stuff.

The staff photo loaded in the virtual dressing room and in a few clicks, Neal had the usually austere woman dressed in a dress that seemed to be more feather and sequins than actual material. An IM flashed on the screen then, from Eugenia Lucas:

 _Stay out of my file_.

Neal duly clicked out of it and they went through the database again, arguing and grumbling over each choice.

“Hey Swan,” Jones leered over the cubicle divider. “You’re a girl, right?”

“Last I checked, yeah,” Emma replied. “Not that it’s ever stopped me kicking your puny ass, of course.”

“Well, how would you like to see how you scrub up as a real lady? Do you even have knees under those stained jeans you always wear?”

“We can’t all walk around dressed like drag kings.” Emma shrugged, running a hand through her messy hair and wishing she’d brought something to tie it up in a ponytail. “And yeah, we all know we’re more likely to see makeup on your face than mine, whatever.”

“Check it out,” Neal gasped. “Emma, you look even better than I remember.”

“Shut up,” Emma groaned, and in her mortification she didn’t notice Killian typing out an IM to their boss.

 _Permission to bring Swan off the bench? Undercover female agent as required. Will build legend and bring in appropriate consultants re: beauty, hair, clothes_.

“Oh ho ho,” Neal chuckled as Jones sent the message. Emma reacted a moment too late with her smack to the back of his head.

“Son of a bitch!” Emma snarled, but the speedy reply from the Deputy Director sent her stomach plummeting.

_If she’s your best (only?) option, then it’s a go. Don’t mess this up, Jones._

“Well, Cinderella,” Jones said, choking back a laugh. “Looks like you will go to the ball, after all.”

***

“Hey, Rubes,” Emma jolted to a stop seeing her buddy in the parking lot.

“Killian asked me to bring you a few things for your overnight bag,” Ruby said, her voice a monotone. “Said the rest will be ordered in or collected by the field guys. Dresses and everything.”

“It’s a shame you’re not with us,” Emma said. “You’d be so much better at this than me. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to convince anyone--”

“Emma, you’re a very pretty girl. You just don’t like to make a fuss,” Ruby was all reassurance, even though she couldn’t meet Emma’s eye. “Leave it to the experts, and this not-so-ugly duckling will really be a swan for the day. And don’t make a face at the pun, that’s all you’re gonna get from the comedians you’re working with over the weekend.”

Ruby handed over a small bag crammed with makeup and a few bits of clothing that Emma didn’t even want to think about yet. Only then did Emma notice the tremor in Ruby’s cheek, a sure sign that her friend was under stress.

“What’s up?” Emma pressed, not wanting to rock the boat and aware that Jones would be down to drag her away any moment.

“You’re going undercover,” Ruby answered after a stifling silence, her voice cracking on the last syllable. “Emma, please. You have to promise me you’ll come back in one piece.”

“What? Hey, of course I will. I always do, don’t I?”

“Right, but it’s different when it’s white collar stuff. This freak wants to blow things up. Promise me you’ll be as careful as you can. I’ll even get some Phish Food in, and it’ll be waiting on the bar for you, day after this damn pageant.”

“I’ll be there,” Emma promised. “I will, Rubes. I know why this upsets you; I’m not an idiot. But someone has to save these bimbos, and the audience perving on the bimbos. So you get that ice cream in the freezer, and I’ll see you in a few days. Promise.”

Ruby pulled her into a hug and Emma closed her eyes for just a moment. It wasn’t often she got to know what it would feel like to be missed.

***

“I don’t see why I have to--”

“Shut up, Swan,” Jones barked, steering her towards the hangar like a sleep-deprived and cranky parent guiding a baby stroller. “We’re gonna be in San Antonio real soon, and I won’t have you screwing this up for me. So dress up, do as you’re told at all times, and be charming. Well, at least be polite.”

“Agent Jones,” the co-pilot fawned instantly. “With another… lovely young lady?” She asked, sweeping Emma’s jeans and t-shirt attire with disdain. There hadn’t exactly been time for a wardrobe change.

“And I’m not walking around in a swimsuit, shaking my ass like some stripper,” Emma grumbled, picking up her rant from the ride over. “Hell, I’m not doing it at all! You didn’t even _ask_ me, you asshole.”

“Uh…” The co-pilot frowned at her language, prompting Emma to pull a face right back at her.

“You want to maybe get in there and fly the plane? Only Texas isn’t exactly around the corner,” she snapped. “Or would you rather have blood on your hands because Agent Jones here likes to stand around on the tarmac posing?”

“Right this way,” the redheaded woman sighed, outright sneering at Emma as she led them up the steps of the small jet. Emma found her stomach rumbling for Ruby’s food that she hadn’t had a chance to taste earlier.

The rest of the team were already bickering over seating arrangements, but Emma settled for pushing Booth out of one of the front seats and clutching her overnight bag in her lap, despite the attendant’s attempts to take it.

“Can I just have a drink?” Emma asked in frustration.

“Once we’re in the air, yes,” the attendant responded. She looked like she should be in the pageant herself with perfect olive skin and dark curls that dropped just past her shoulders. Emma swallowed a couple of times, before realizing how distracted she must look. That whole ‘hey, she’s pretty’ thing had become way more noticeable lately. Maybe it was just a reaction to working with a clutch of walking boners day in, day out. Or maybe… well, work needed her attention. That other stuff could wait.

***

“Cora will see you now,” the assistant who’d introduced himself as Sidney announced. Spotless in his cream-colored suit, he stared in barely-concealed disgust at Emma’s appearance, and for the first time she felt truly self-conscious about it.

Welcome to Barbie’s Dream Village.

“I’m Killian Jones,” he marched right up and introduced himself with a firm handshake, one he probably practiced to get exactly the right degree of squeeze, the asshole. “I want to thank you in advance for your cooperation Ms…”

“It’s just Cora.” The woman was the definition of ageing gracefully, in a dark pantsuit that looked like it cost more than Emma’s rent, reddish-brown hair piled up on her head like she’d just ripped off a style from Audrey Hepburn. Emma might not have been the girliest of girls, but she knew what doing the whole fashion thing right looked like.

“Like Madonna,” Sidney explained.

“Or Cher,” David offered.

“Well, Cora,” Jones continued. “I believe our Deputy Director explained most  
of the arrangements while we were flying, but we need your help most with putting one of our agents undercover in the contest.”

“You must be joking.”

“No, ma’am.”

“I suppose you want her to win, too?”

“That won’t be necessary. But we’ll need any influence you have over the judges to make sure she gets into the top five. We need her in every round, with the girls at all times. For their safety.”

“Of course. My girls’ safety is paramount. I would rather cancel than risk their lives, but the network won’t allow it. Apparently they have a sudden aversion to Seinfeld reruns, unlike every other week of the year.”

“We know the beauty pageant is important,” Killian pressed on, and Emma shifted impatiently from foot to foot at all the ass-kissing.

“Excuse me, Agent Jones, but this is no mere pageant. This is a scholarship program, and has been run that way ever since I took over.”

“Right,” David chimed in. “And we just want to protect the girls. Uh, women. Scholars, I mean.”

“There’s one major problem with this plan of yours,” Cora replied. “I don’t see how we can slip her into the line-up. Which state is she supposed to be from?”

“Well, it turns out Miss Massachusetts has been doing a nice little sideline in some dangerous and very illegal slimming pills,” Emma offered, bored of standing on the sidelines. “So I guess I’ll be from there. Handy, since I know Boston and all.”

“You…” Cora trailed off, mouth hanging open in shock. “You’re the agent they want to put undercover?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh. Well. In that case, let me get you Mr Gold’s number. Regina!”

“Who’s Mr Gold?” Emma asked. A moment later she was interrupted by the entrance of quite possibly the most stunning woman she’d ever seen: petite, but with curves that a Daytona driver couldn’t handle, obvious even in a professional gray dress. She walked more comfortably in her four-inch heels than Emma could manage in her regulation brogues. Dark hair and dark eyes caught the perfect lighting in the room and everything about the woman seemed to, well, glow.

“You wanted something, ma’am?”

“Regina, where have you been? I said I’d let you go early today to prepare, but that doesn’t mean you stop working already.”

“Sorry, Cora,” Regina mumbled, her strong jaw twitching with what Emma recognized as poorly suppressed defiance.

“Put these agents in touch with Gold, would you? Regina here is part of the competition, too. She’s Miss Maine, if you don’t recognize her.”

“Congratulations,” Killian said with a leer. “It shows.”

Regina fixed him with a glare that could melt lead, and Emma felt an overwhelming urge to high-five the other woman.

“I’ll get Gold to meet you at Luigi’s. It’s his regular haunt, so he’s probably there already. I’d start with the bar.”

“You got--” Emma started to ask.

“Here,” Regina scribbled on a piece of paper. “The address for your GPS. Drive safe.”

Emma had heard dismissal often enough to recognize it. She nodded, taking the paper and heading for the door.

“Come along, Agent Swan,” Jones demanded, barely concealing his laughter as he pushed past her. “You’ve got a date with destiny.”


	2. Chapter 2

The restaurant was a distinctly middle-of-the-road Italian, but one glance at how well-stocked the bar was, and Emma knew exactly the kind of guy they were looking for. Sure enough, their entrance drew the attention of a man with hair just a few inches from mullet territory, although he was otherwise sharply-dressed right down to the silk pocket square and gold-tipped cane leaning against his hip.

“Special Agent Jones, I presume,” Gold muttered as they approach. His accent was British, Emma noted, not English as far as she could tell, but it was clear the man had deliberately altered his voice in some way, no doubt to conceal his actual origins. “And when will the young lady be joining us?”

“Your young lady is right here,” Emma told him, cracking her gum for good measure.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,” Gold sighed, wriggling from his bar stool. “But I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree entirely. I’m a pageant consultant, not a miracle worker. For that, you might want to try the Vatican.”

“Mr Gold,” Jones stepped up, flexing his shoulders under his leather jacket. Emma couldn’t tell if it was meant to be menacing or seductive, because Jones could be whatever it took to weasel his way into a situation. “I suppose Cora was right after all.”

“What’s that?” Gold almost concealed his annoyance, but his jaw set for just a moment, and Emma had to hand it to Jones, it was the right play.

“Oh, she said you might not feel up to the task. Since you’ve been out of the game a while. You know, with this expense account the Bureau has given me, maybe I can tempt that lady who works with Miss Florida, whaddya think, Swan?”

“Well, we need to use up all those dollars somehow,” Emma joined in. “Otherwise they’ll just go back in the fund for buying more clipboards.”

“Swan, was it?” Gold looked at her again, this time with a glint in his eye. “Well, you’re closer to an ugly duckling right now, but no one--no one--can work the magic I can. You’ll live up to the name, I can guarantee you that.”

“Ah, she won’t be using her own name undercover. Why don’t we discuss the plan over some food?” Jones suggested, flagging down a passing waiter. “And Scotch, of course. Good to grease the wheels, I always say.”

“Is she housebroken?” Gold asked, glaring at Emma as they were shown to their seats. It only got worse when she ordered a pasta dish smothered in creamy sauce, only for him to interrupt and demand a niçoise salad instead.

“Hey!” Emma protested.

“You’re in decent shape,” Gold conceded. “But these gowns won’t allow for a poochy pasta tum, Agent. Nor will the bikini.”

“I am not--”

“You are,” Jones confirmed, shutting down the conversation. “Now, about your legend…”

“Yeah, what’s my new name?” Emma asked, picking up a breadstick and crunching it in loud, messy defiance. “I’d better start getting used to it.”

“Emmylou Freebush,” Jones announced. “Miss Massachusetts herself.” 

Emma grabbed the steak knife to her right, because it was that or reach for her service weapon.

“Say that again?”

“You heard me.”

“Well, I’ll just be heading back to the airport,” Emma decided, standing up without pulling the whole tablecloth and its contents crashing to the floor, but it was a close thing. “Clearly you’re not taking any of this seriously.”

“I am!” Jones insisted, winking at Gold before standing up and placing a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Trust me, Emma, nobody is more concerned with the preservation of beautiful women than I am.”

“Right, ‘cause where else would you get your eyeliner tips? Oh wait, there’s always drag queens.”

“I am not wearing eyeliner!” Jones hissed, prompting a chuckle from Gold. “I can’t help if I have naturally defined eyes that some people find striking!”

“Is there any need for me to be here?” Gold chimed in. “Other than refereeing this little battle of wits? Seems wrestling is more up your alley.”

“You know, that’s a great idea,” Emma said with a grin, before flipping Jones and pinning him to the floor with one knee. It said something about San Antonio that it didn’t draw more than a murmur of excitement in the otherwise busy restaurant, almost full with the early dinner crowd. “Change my name to something non-crazy and I’ll let you up.”

“I can’t!” Jones howled. “They’ve already printed all the paperwork, right down to your fake driver’s license. Now let me go before I call the Deputy Director and have her suspend you.”

“You gonna wear the bikini instead?”

“I’d look better in one than you,” Jones sniped, blinking furiously to keep tears from his eyes as Emma wrenched his shoulder for good measure. “Especially around the hips.”

“Speaking of which,” Gold groaned, weary of them already. “If we’re to make any kind of transformation, we must get started right away. Where shall I direct my staff?”

“You have staff?” Emma spluttered.

“I may not work the pageant circuit anymore,” Gold replied. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have connections. Now, given the scale of the work, a simple hotel room isn’t going to cut it. You flew down in a private jet, yes?”

“The Bureau doesn’t discuss travel arrangements,” Jones told him, exhaling in relief when Emma finally let him loose. “But yeah, say we did…”

“The hangar should work fine. We’ll pick up my old assistant on the way, and she’ll round up the troops for us.

“Is this going to work?” Emma grumbled, grabbing Gold as he waved down the waiter. Their food hadn’t even arrived yet, but Gold had polished off his second drink in a timely fashion. “I can’t make a fool of myself in front of half the country.”

“Don’t be silly,” Gold tutted, and it almost sounded warm. “It’ll be a third of the country, at most. Viewing figures aren’t what they used to be when I was styling the winner every year.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“Right,” Jones clapped his hands, as though he hadn’t just been tossed around like pancake batter. “If there are no further attacks on my person, let’s get down to business.”

***

“So, what do we do first?” Emma shrugged off her jacket and laid her pistol down within arm’s reach. If these rapidly multiplying hairdressers and beauticians were going to swarm her, damn straight she wanted a weapon handy. “You know, in your expert opinion or whatever.”

“I think I might have a better chance with your boss,” Gold snarked back. “Sure, he’d need a padded bra, but there’s less surface grime to chip away.”

“Have I done something to piss you off? Why in the hell did Cora send us to you, anyway?” Emma asked, hands on her hips. “

“Probably because I’m the most successful consultant in Miss United States history,” Gold reminded her, wielding a pair of tongs like a magic wand. “Ten years out of eleven, my girl took the crown. You don’t see runs like that anymore. I worked with girls from Anchorage to Annapolis, and they were radiant, all of them. Step over there, please,” he added, nodding towards some full-length mirrors that had been hastily assembled.

Emma glanced around in concern, but there were no other agents back in this restricted area, only unfamiliar faces in those immaculate white uniforms. It was like a spa exploded and this was the haven for the soot-free survivors.

“God, that walk,” Gold groaned. “Tell me, when did you start playing linebacker for the Patriots?”

“I’ve walked that way my whole life,” Emma argued, resolutely not shedding a single item of clothing. “And if the insults don’t stop, you’ll need more than that cane to get around, buddy.”

“Enough with the ‘buddy’, and the threats of physical violence,” Gold warned. “Honestly, can you say anything that doesn’t sound like it was ripped from the script of a prison movie?”

“Yeah. I just choose not to.”

“A lady never says ‘yeah’. Miss United States says ‘yes’, and is always, unfailingly, polite. When in doubt, shut your trap and smile. Even you, duckling, can look radiant with a smile. Providing your muscles remember how to form one, that is.”

Emma blew a half-hearted bubble with her gum in response, only to be startled when Gold knocks it from her mouth with a lightning-fast swish of his cane. It came dangerously close to smacking her in the mouth, and her reflexes had her ready to rip his throat out before she forced herself to remain calm.

“Chewing the cud in public? Also a no-no.”

“Sure you got enough goddamn rules?” Emma asked.

“I think you can imagine how we feel about cursing.”

“I bet the 11th girl out of eleven feels the same way about it I do.”

“That year the girl who won performed a life-saving tracheotomy on stage. You can’t compete with that kind of showing off.”

“That got you shit-canned?”

“Language, dearie. No, it did not. The following year - my 12th, but I don’t count it - I was working with Miss Illinois. The girl had a breakdown… when the press started sniffing around her stint in rehab, she blamed the collapse on me. Called me a monster, a perfectionist who barely let her sleep. As if I were some kind of beast!”

“And are you?” Emma frowned at her reflection in the mirrors. “A beast?”

“Do you care, if it means everyone walks out of here on Monday morning, alive?”

Emma considered, watching the people buzz around behind her and making Gold wait. “No,” she concluded. “I don’t suppose I do.”

“Excellent. Then, Agent Swan, let’s start with the depilation procedures.”

“Depi-what-now?”

“Aurora!” Gold bellowed, clapping his hands and making a petite redhead in white scrubs appear, almost by magic. “This young lady will no doubt need everywhere attended to. Start with the bikini line.”

“Bikini?” Emma yelped, but Aurora was already dragging her by the wrist towards some curtained-off area. “Listen, if this is about waxing, I have a razor somewhere in my luggage--”

Her protests fell on deaf ears. And a few minutes later, so did her screams.

***

Emma hobbled into a director’s chair, relieved to press the offered ice packs between her thighs. Modesty went out of the window right around the moment the perky redhead said ‘could you move your legs apart please?’ and so Emma ignored the questioning looks from everyone who wandered past.

“Hey,” Neal said, appearing behind the mirror with its thousand-watt lights. “How you holding up?”

“How am I holding up?” Emma groaned. “Some perky kid with a stripper’s name just tore my skin off in strips, and they won’t give me anything to eat in case I remind anyone that humans need actual food to survive. Not to mention I have to watch Jones hit on anything with a rack and a pulse while being tortured. So, just great, Cassidy.”

“Hey, if I had the face for it…”

“You’d still leave me up there. Don’t think I don’t know that, okay?”

“Agent Swan?” The interruption was a welcome one, and Emma turned gingerly in her chair to see Regina striding across the busy hangar towards them. “I came to check on your progress.”

“Your boy Gold is having a lot of fun torturing me,” Emma answered. “Are you here to stick pins in me or something?”

“No,” Regina corrected. “Although you may wish to consider covering that ugly tattoo on your wrist. The judges aren’t too keen on prison ink.”

“Uh, I got this undercover.”

“In prison?”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“I’m sure Gold has warned you about the dreaded ‘yeah’,” Regina scolded, looking Neal up and down like he was a piece of roadkill dropped at her feet. “You might want to consider leaving the fanboys outside. Getting you into the final round is going to take all your concentration.”

“He’s not my fan,” Emma shot Neal a warning glare. “And he was just leaving, weren’t you, Cassidy? Go talk to that Aurora girl and see if she can do anything about that ugly bearskin rug on Jones’s chest, hmm?”

“But don’t you need—“

“Nope.”

“Run along,” Regina sighed, pushing past him and taking the canvas seat next to Emma’s own. “It’s important that you don’t embarrass us all out there.”  
“You’re all parading around in your underwear, basically, with enough hairspray to destroy what’s left of the ozone layer… and I’m the embarrassment?”

“Agitating the talent, Miss Mills?” Gold’s voice was downright frosty, and Emma realized he’d actually been almost civil with her. “Sorry, that’s Miss Maine now, isn’t it? Finally.”

“You could congratulate me, Gold.”

“Why? If you’d listened to me, we’d all be five years younger right now. Aren’t you concerned those extra years will count against you, dearie?” His sneer might have been focused on Regina, but Emma felt a trickle of panic down her own spine just from getting caught in the crossfire. Something in the crackling tension between those two left her longing to be reunited with her sidearm.

“Look at me,” Regina retorted, waving one hand lazily over her perfect figure, the gray dress from earlier replaced by a skintight black one that left very little to the imagination. Her hair, pulled back in a severe knot earlier, had been left to fall in soft curls around her face. If she’d been impressive back in Cora’s office, Emma had to admit the woman was a knockout outside of it. She tried to ignore the very distinct twinge between her thighs, but shifting position only aggravated the freshly-waxed skin, and it took all her self-control to swallow the curse words and settle for sucking in air through her teeth. “Do I look worried to you?”

“No, but you set yourself up in a nice little state, didn’t you? What happened? Rhode Island got snatched up before you could establish residency?”

“Blanchard decided to run again.”

“How charming. A little reunion,” Gold looked genuinely pleased at the news, not least at the disgust in Regina’s voice as she announced it. “If you’re quite done sabotaging Emmylou here, we’d best get her over to André for some drastic hair treatment.”

“She’s to make the final five, haven’t you heard?” Regina countered, almost sweetly. “Maybe with that kind of help, you might not screw it up again. We’ll see, won’t we?”

“Friend of yours?” Emma blurted, as Regina slunk away, ignoring the chattering beauty consultants and support staff alike.

“I don’t like people who think they’re entitled to things,” Gold admitted, surprisingly frank. “If Regina there wins, well, let’s just say there’s the hand of fortune guiding her.”

“She looks the part.” Emma had no idea where the impulse to defend came from, but she went with it.

“So do the other 48,” Gold argued right back. “But you won’t, if we don’t get you into surgery for those split ends.”

“Fine,” Emma groaned. “And that’s it, right? An hour or so on my hair and then I can grab some pizza and sleep.”

Gold tipped his head back, and laughed. Emma might have laughed along with him, if she hadn’t been realizing just how screwed she was.

***

“Oh Swaaaaaaaan,” Jones whispered, sneaking up behind her and almost getting an elbow to the craggy face for his trouble. “Hey, what happened to being a lady?”

“It’s barely past dawn,” Emma grunted. “I’ve been up all night having things ripped off and painted on. I haven’t eaten since we were in EST, and while you might not be able to tell from this delightful shift dress and fitted blazer, I am still very much armed. So you want to tread very, very carefully right now.”

“Here’s your wire,” Jones continued, pretending to ignore her warning but being a lot more respectful in the handover than usual. “This pin has video, the earring is the GPS tracker. Pop that in the opposite ear and you’ll hear our every instruction.”

“Who says I’m taking orders from the Hardy Boys?” Emma snorted, but she did as he asked, relieved that something about the last 12 hours felt vaguely familiar. Wires she could do, even if they were nestled in expensive jewelry for the first time. “So what’s up first?”

“Breakfast,” Neal announced, eager to score some brownie points. “You might want to stick to the continental options, though. To fit in.”

“If by that you mean some continental bacon, maybe a conti-goddamned-nental hash brown or two, then yes.”

“Ooh,” Jones mocked. “Gold’s training is actually starting to have an effect. The old Emma Swan would definitely have said ‘yeah’ just then.”

“Don’t push me,” Emma warned, easing herself into the backseat of the waiting town car. “Now get me to this goddamned breakfast so we can get on with solving this case.”

***

“Massachusetts!”

Emma forgot to react at first, until a nudge in the ribs from Gold brought her crashing back to attention. The man had elbows like prison shivs, and if Emma could have felt her skin beneath the Spanx, she would have had fair warning about the bruise already forming.

“Uh, hi?” Emma attempted in response, only to provoke a short, sharp cough from Gold. “I mean, hello, what a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Mary Margaret, or Rhode Island if you prefer,” the peachy-skinned girl with the pixie cut announced. “And you must be, uh…”

“Emmylou,” Emma said, almost hiding the grimace. “How did you know I was from Mass, huh?”  
“Oh, well, yours is the only picture not in the welcome booklet. I memorized all the others last night when I couldn’t sleep. So, process of elimination, I guess?”

“You’d make a great detective,” Emma replied, not entirely joking. “So, do we stand out in the foyer all morning, or what?”

“Oh, we always wait for Cora,” Mary Margaret explained. “She would never ask us to, of course, but the tradition is that all the ladies wait and applaud her into the dining room so she can make the opening address.”

“How nice,” Emma lied, knowing an ego trip when she heard one. “In the meantime, you think I could hustle a bagel from someone?”

“You eat carbs?” A voice behind Emma piped up. She turned to see a gorgeous African-American woman staring at her, open-mouthed. “I haven’t had a bagel since middle school. And I’m Miss New York, for God’s sake.”

“Oh God, don’t,” Emma groaned. “A real bagel would send me over the edge right now. The lesser versions in other states are all I can let myself hope for.”

“Tamara, did you solve that issue with your roommate?”

“Sure I did. I kicked her ass out to share with the other little racists,” Tamara snapped, drawing herself up to her full height. Instinctively, Emma braced herself to have Tamara’s back. This was the kind of attitude she could respect, to hell with all the fake politeness and bland platitudes. “Which means, Massachusetts, that you’re rooming with me.”

“You can call me Emmylou. Or Em. Or ‘hey, you’, honestly,” Emma said with a grin. If she had to be trapped there for a long weekend, she’d just found some decent company.

“Well, there’s still room with me,” Mary Margaret offered, and although she had the whole kicked puppy thing going on, Emma was already nodding at Tamara.

“I got in late last night, so I slept at the, uh, airport,” Emma lied. “I’ll bring my bags by the room once we’re done applauding the orange juice or whatever.”

As she made the joke, a hush fell over the assembled young women, and Cora made her sweeping entrance through the front doors to a ripple of applause that grew to thunderous as she passed. Emma clapped along to blend in, but the strain of not rolling her eyes almost blinded her.

They filed in to the breakfast room at last, and Emma nearly knocked three contestants flying into the buffet as she made a charge for a couple of crescent rolls and two mugs of coffee. No telling when she’d next get the chance to caffeinate.

As she looked in frustration at the place settings with their tiny type, Tamara waved her down.

“New England always stick with me,” she reminded her, and Emma caught on to the geographic layout of the five tables at last. “And you’ll be saving me from another lecture on good behaviour from Saint Mary Margaret.”

“Ladies,” Cora declared from the podium. “It is, as ever, a delight to see you here before me. You are, if I may say, even more beautiful and charming than every year that’s come before you. Well, except mine, that is.”

Polite laughter erupted, and Tamara picked up on Emma’s questioning glance.

“Cora won two years running. Only a few people ever entered again after winning. The year after she won twice, they banned winners from re-entry.”

“Sort of like being President,” Emma snorted.

“Yeah, except you don’t get to keep the title once your term is up,” Tamara agreed. “Well, you get it a lot with ‘former’ in front of it, I guess.”

“Tamara, don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

“What the hell am I doing here? Yeah, you’re not the first to hit me with that one. My parents aren’t thrilled about it, either.”

“Then why?” Emma whispered, as Cora started droning on about scholarships and television and maybe something about virginity, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to pay attention. “Don’t get me wrong, you look the part and all—“

“Right, with my hair relaxed into a coma and living on cucumber water in case my actual figure ever makes an appearance,” Tamara snorted. “But you heard the lady. It’s a scholarship program. I do this for a year and I get to train as a doctor. That’s my endgame.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Emma nodded. “I always wanted to go to college, but the foster system doesn’t exactly, well… let’s just say this opens some doors, right?”

Mary Margaret glared at them from across the table as soon as she dared look away from Cora for a second.

“Shush,” she hissed, but Regina interrupted the indignation by taking the free seat next to Tamara. “Hey!” Mary Margaret tried again. “That’s not even your seat, Maine.”

“Consider this a coup of Vermont,” Regina drawled. “She’ll be in the bathroom puking up the breath mint she had for breakfast for another ten minutes anyway.”

“But—“

“And with that,” Cora began her final run up, shooting a laser death glare at the North-East’s table. “I officially welcome you to this year’s Miss United States event. Regardless of who the winner turns out to be, it has been a pleasure to host you all and show off the very best of America’s young women.”

The applause was less polite this time, and definitely more impatient. Emma grabbed an itinerary from beside her place setting and her eyed widened in horror as she looked at the list of events, crammed into the timetable from hell. Just as escape looked plausible, or at least five minutes of eating without someone yammering on about ‘great opportunities’, the room picked up the clapping for a new arrival.

“Who’s that?” Emma murmured for the benefit of her earpiece.

“Oh for God’s sake, Swan. Must you ruin a perfectly good boob-level camera stream with your inanity?” Jones demanded, practically yelling into the microphone. “And if you’d done any research at all, you’d know that’s Leo White. The host of the whole damn thing? Has been for years. He’s like the Bob Hope of the bimbo parade.”

“Ladies, it’s Leo!” The squat, balding man yelled into the microphone. “Have you missed me?”

A murmur of response was enough to fuel him, apparently, and Emma downed her first coffee in a silent plea for the strength to endure.

“God, he gets more like a clown every year,” Regina snarked to Tamara, who nodded and smiled in response. Emma didn’t want to get territorial, but she’d been hoping to make a nice temporary ally for this shitshow. So naturally, Regina Mills had inserted herself into the situation again. Maybe that tendency of hers would get her on Emma’s suspect list, she thought to herself. A little digging around couldn’t hurt.

“Why do they keep hiring him then?” Emma demanded, not letting Mills off that easily.

“Oh, the network signed some ridiculously long contract back when everyone was still doing coke for lunch instead of sensible business practices. But this is his last year. And he knows it.”

“It’s not exactly nice to take pleasure in someone else’s misery,” Mary Margaret chimed in, and Emma winced on her behalf. Regina turned like a shark with the sudden scent of blood in the water.

“It’s not exactly nice that a pathetic, sloppy drunk who can’t keep his hands to himself should get paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to harass young women, either,” Regina said, her voice lowered to a snarl. “But that’s just the way the world is, I guess.”

“You can’t prove—“

“Oh, can’t I?” Regina asked, her tone deadly. Even Rhode Island took the hint on that one.

“You’re in my seat, Regina,” another blonde interrupted, but instead of the venom Emma expected to spew forth, Regina’s face lit up in a smile.

“Took you long enough, Kathryn,” Regina teased. “Barfing up the sponsors’ ice cream again?”

“Okay, anyone would be sick after three pints of that stuff,” Kathryn shot right back. “That doesn’t mean I have an eating disorder.”

“But you do.”

“Oh, who doesn’t?” Kathryn groaned. “But it’s not because of that, is all I’m saying.”

“You all know each other?” Emma ventured.

“We do, carb eater,” Kathryn replied, bumping Regina halfway across the seat so they could share it. “Which makes it kinda weird that I don’t recognize you. This year’s first is usually last years 2nd or 3rd place. At least, regionally speaking. We all cross paths for modelling stuff too. You know how it is.”

“Right,” Emma replied. “I never really went in for the model side of things.”

“Another scholarship dork like TamTam here?” Kathryn joked, taking Tamara’s swat at her arm in good spirits. “So you’ve been hitting the books until you absolutely had to hit the circuit.”

“Exactly,” Emma grabbed the plausible story like a drowning woman might. “Sounds like I’m not exactly the special snowflake I thought I might be.”

“When you get to this level,” Tamara took over the explaining. “Everyone’s basically a virgin all over again. You can know how the system works, play to the judges, all of it. But television changes things. You just can’t be sure whose interviews will have a sob story to blow you out of the water.”

“Or who’ll do life-saving medical procedures on stage?” Emma offered.

“Yes,” Regina answered that one. “So you have been watching all these years, just like the rest of us.”

“Sure,” Emma lied. “This was always my plan B. And then plan A really didn’t work, so here I am.”

“Ladies,” Cora called, forcing Leo away from the podium with a very fixed smile plastered on her face. “Your chariots await. First photo call, thirty minutes by the lake.”

“The lake?” Emma tried to recall that from the brochures she’d stared at all night.

“She means the big puddle in the middle of the golf course. You’ll get used to Cora. She likes to put a little gloss on everything,” Regina supplied. “Now, if we’re done with Pageanting for Dummies? Some of us have sunscreen to reapply.”

“Look at you, Swan,” Jones crackled into her ear. “Bonding, just like a real girl. Now, be a love and suggest you all take tops off and rub it into each others’ shoulders, hmm?”

“Go screw yourself,” Emma muttered, quietly enough that the only attention drawn was Regina’s. “Okay, let’s get to these chariots.”


	3. Chapter 3

“A horse-drawn carriage?”

Emma heard a snort, but couldn’t be sure if it was her or the restless pony. The poor thing was harnessed to a teensy white carriage, open like a hayride and probably just as rife with splinters. Under the already baking hot San Antonio sun, it felt a little cruel.

She turned towards Tamara, but she had already taken up a spot next to Kathryn in the third from last carriage. Even Mary Margaret had paired off with a redhead that Emma hadn’t been introduced to yet. That left one empty carriage and only one other person waiting for a ride.

Regina. Perfect.

Gold waved them off, along with the other consultants, but the simple movement of his hand still managed to look like a threat. At least in front of Regina, Emma reasoned, she could afford to let her front slip once or twice while she really grew into it.

“So. Travel companions,” Emma broke the silence as the pony moved into a trot behind the rest of the procession. The unmistakable smell of horse manure pervaded the fragrant flowers hanging from every surface and bursting out of every unpaved bit of ground, but Regina didn’t so much as wrinkle her nose. “Listen, if I’m spoiling the fun of this for you, I’m sorry. But as Cora probably told you, this is a serious situation.”

“She doesn’t want you here, either,” Regina sniffed. “But it isn’t really her decision, much as she likes everyone to think she calls the shots. She’s a figurehead. A throwback to that old generation where winning this was the career, not a stepping stone to working for the UN.”

“You’ve really got a way of being harsh, don’t you?” Emma asked. “And yet, I don’t want to smack you for it, either.”

“That would be assault, Agent. Don’t make me come after your badge, now.”

“You’re, what, 24?”

“Let’s say that I am.”

“You’ve got a lot of wiseass for 24.”

“I’ve lived more than most people have by this point in their lives. You can’t be much older, surely?”

“28,” Emma admitted. “But I guess I’m lucky I’ve always been kind of babyfaced.”

“No, that’s Mary Margaret,” Regina retorted. “Sometimes I think she might still be going through potty training, she’s such a baby.”

“You certainly act like she pissed in your oatmeal,” Emma agreed. “She seems okay to me, though. Kind of a goody-goody, but that’s not a crime.”

“It should be. It’s so goddamned boring.”

“Well, we can’t all be evil,” Emma mocked quietly. “Listen, I’m gonna do the rounds anyway, so I may as well start with you. Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt this event or these girls? Have you seen anyone acting suspiciously?”

“If I had, don’t you think I would have mentioned it already?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“I can tell you must have been top of your class in Interrogation,” Regina groaned. “But no, unless you need specific access to something or somewhere, I don’t see how I can be much use to you.

Damn, Emma found herself thinking. Working closely with Regina, bitchy or not, had somehow become the one part of this that she’d been looking forward to.

“This your first year working for Cora?”

“No, my… god, my fifth.”

“So you must know where trouble usually flares up. Any new faces this year that have been a little too interested in what’s going on?”

“What you fail to understand, _Emmylou_ , is that for most people here, this place is their Disneyland. Everyone is too interested, too enthusiastic, too completely exhausting about all things Miss United States. And my job is being the gatekeeper who protects everyone with actual work to do.”

“Sounds tough.” Emma didn’t have to fake the sympathy. “Sometimes I feel like my job is wading through knuckleheads in the hope of actually solving a crime every now and then.”

“Well, as a taxpayer, I can’t tell you how reassuring that is.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Almost never, so far. Now, we’re approaching the meadow. You might want to touch up your lipgloss, dear.”

“Oh, Gold didn’t show me how to—“

“For God’s sake,” Regina huffed, grabbing Emma’s tiny Gucci purse (Gold had insisted) and pulling one of the pale green tubes from it. “Pout, please.”

“And here,” Cora announced, suddenly appearing as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Is just one of many examples of the empowering legacy of Miss United States: teamwork, female solidarity and shared expertise.”

Regina actually rolled her eyes before popping the lid back on the gloss and closing it up in Emma’s purse again.

“Don’t screw up my photoshoot,” Cora murmured at Emma as they made their way past to join the other contestants.

***

Evening took forever to come around, and after a whole day in pinching clothes and heels that might as well have been inverted for how battered and bruised Emma’s feet felt, all she wanted was a quick bath and to sleep the sleep of the dead.

Unfortunately, Mary Margaret had other plans.

“Hey,” she whispered, emerging from the shadows in the alcove nearest to Emma’s door. “I kinda lost track of you today. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh, yeah,” Emma tried to shrug it off. “I didn’t really know anyone, so I was doing the rounds I guess. Hey, I’ve got some hot chocolate in my room, if you don’t rat me out for smuggling in a hotplate?”

“You actually drink hot chocolate?” Mary Margaret gasped in amazement. “You really are something else, Emmylou. Gosh, I used to love when my mama would make me cocoa: cinnamon and whipped cream, always just right.”

“That’s weird,” Emma lied. “That’s exactly how I take mine, too.” She’d have to hustle up some cinnamon, but it gave more opportunity to explore and pump the other girls for information.

“Everyone seems to like you already,” Mary Margaret enthused as she followed Emma into the room. Tamara, already turned in for the night, lay as still as a corpse in her bed, creamy green face goo smeared all over her face. Emma hoped Gold hadn’t left anything like that out for her. No doubt it would be another round of poking and prodding before breakfast tomorrow, too. “They were all laughing at your jokes.”

“Nah, I just made a few cracks about the guys with the cameras following us around,” Emma insisted. “No biggie.”

“You should tell jokes as your talent,” Mary Margaret nodded. “Oh! Unless you already do, I mean.”

“No, my talent is… well, it’s something else,” Emma insisted, happy that she’d never have to actually show it. “Sort of like a superpower, in fact.”

“That sounds so cool.”

“Oh, it is. I mean, I wasn’t going to show up and do something lame like twirling a baton, you know?”

Mary Margaret’s face crumpled, and Emma cursed herself. Thank God she’d already stashed the wire equipment in her stupid, impractical purse. Jones and Cassidy would never let her live that kind of goof down.

“Not that all baton twirling is, uh… I mean, once you add in flames and stuff, that’s pretty hardcore, right?”

“I don’t use flames,” Mary Margaret answered, stirring the milk and avoiding Emma’s glance. “I was always told that good girls shouldn’t be… ostentatious.”

And yet here you are trying to cute your way into being a beauty queen, Emma responded in her head. Tell me again how that’s not showing off?  
“Right. Well, maybe that would be too much for this kind of show. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got tomorrow.”

“It’ll be today if you two don’t stop your yapping,” Tamara groaned from her bed. “And which sadistic bitch is making hot chocolate while I’m trying to sleep?”

“My bad,” Emma admitted, holding her hands up. “Want some? You know, since you’re awake now and all.”

“It better be low-fat,” Tamara grumbled, but she made her way out from under the sheets just the same. “What’s up, Rhode Island? Never seen a face mask before?”

“No, it’s just… you look like that girl from Wicked,” Mary Margaret erupted into giggles. “Do you sing?”

“No, I do not sing,” Tamara snapped, but the sight of marshmallows being sprinkled on top of her mug soon produced a small smile. “Kathryn, she sings opera. You wait til you hear her.”

“That is, if the high C doesn’t snap her in two,” said a voice from the doorway. “Could you three be making any more noise?

“Boiling milk isn’t exactly a rave, Regina,” Emma sassed right back. “But you’re gonna have to drink some now. Taste an actual calorie, right here in this room.”

“I’m not scared of a little decadence,” Regina sighed, slumping down on Emma’s bed. “God, I thought those sponsors would never leave me alone. I think one basically offered to sell half of Idaho, if I’d go back to his room with him.”

“Well, you can see where he’d be confused,” Emma said after a minute. “Anyone would think this pageant was some kind of meat market.”

For a moment the silence hung uneasily over the room, until Tamara cracked up laughing.

“Damn, Emmylou,” she said through her chuckles. “For someone hoping these people will write her a bigass check on Sunday night, you really don’t have any problem tearing them down.”

Emma shrugged, sipping at her cocoa and trying not to blush. She did notice, however, that even good corporate girl Regina had let a hint of a smile pull at her lips before going back to her usual glacial demeanor.

“We really should all be getting to bed,” Regina announced, sipping at her mug once, and then twice, before setting it down on Emma’s nightstand. “Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.”

“Yes, boss,” Emma countered, standing up and firing off a mock salute. “You heard Maine, troops. Let’s go get some beauty sleep, huh?”

“God knows you need it,” Regina threw back over her shoulder as she left the room.

***

“Wha?”

“Wakey, wakey Sleeping Beauty,” Jones whispered as he kept shaking Emma’s shoulder. “Balcony, now.”

Emma muttered every curse word she’d ever learned as she crawled out of bed, pulled on Tamara’s hoodie, and joined Jones on the room’s tiny balcony. He slid the door closed behind her.

“Up and over,” he said, nodding to the low wall that granted little privacy from the hotel grounds. “Couldn’t risk me being seen roaming the hallways, not at this early stage.”

“If I break my neck, there’s no way I’m making the Final Five,” Emma groused, but the chance to do something physical proved too tempting to resist. She cleared the divider in one bound and jogged on ahead to loosen out the stiletto-tortured muscles in her calves and thighs.

“We set Gold and his team up in the Presidential Suite,” Jones explained as they skirted the pool, sticking to the shadows as far as possible. He might have been a douche, but at least Jones knew his procedure well enough.

“You’ll need a bit more work for tomorrow’s schedule.”

“Wait, this isn’t just a chat? I need sleep, Killian. Goddammit, I was actually unconscious for a while in there.”

“Beauty waits for no woman.” Jones looked back with a leer. “Although it’s pretty impressive that it only took two hours of sleep for you to undo most of the man’s work.”

“Could you two be any louder?” Regina’s voice is clearly irritated. “If I can hear you and follow you this easily, so can anyone else. Including your alleged bomber.”

“Miss Maine!” Jones switched into full smarmy douche mode in an instant. “While we appreciate the advice, you should really get back to sleep.”

“Are you saying I need it?”

“Not at all. Just that… well, it’s clearly worked wonders so far.”  
Emma rolled her eyes. All humans needed sleep, not just pageant girls. Something that her own body was protesting quite loudly with every step they took.

“She can come with if she wants,” Emma offered. “Someone has to run interference for me against Gold and his crazy hair teasing. Besides, he’s been out of the running for a few years now. It’s possible there’s stuff he doesn’t know.”

“Good,” Regina huffed, clearly pleased to be included. “We’ll start with those nails.”

Great, Emma groaned. She had just volunteered herself for a double helping of hell.

***

“So, what’s your talent?” Regina asked, inspecting bottles of nail polish for a suitable shade. “You don’t strike me as the baton type. Or an opera singer.”

“I just had this conversation with Rhode Island. Well, it’s not like I have to worry about that, right?” Emma replied. “Cora already guaranteed me top five, so…”

“Are you kidding me?” Regina pulled away from the unnecessary rows of polish, flagging Gold down like he was a 747 approaching the runway. “Mr Gold, this one doesn’t have any talent.”

“So I skip that part,” Emma said with a shrug. “Can I get back to bed sometime before dawn?”

“Nobody said anything to me about a talent,” Gold muttered. “I signed a very detailed contract and nowhere did it say I have to train this agent to do tricks. It’s taken quite enough effort to teach her how to walk like an actual human lady.”

“What appears to be the problem?” Jones asked, returning from the buffet table in the corner and stuffing bites of bagel in his mouth. If Emma didn’t want to stab him in the eye with a coffee-stirrer before, that just became a done deal. “You’re not on about swimsuits again, are you Swan?”

“No,” Emma replied. “They’re freaking out about a trick for me to do. Like I’m a dog on America’s Got Talent.”

“Cora can’t waive—“

“No!” Regina blurted. “Listen, you might not take this event seriously, but a lot of people do. And while Cora might, yes, be in charge of the pageant, you have absolutely no chance of getting to bend even one more rule. It’s already been insulting enough to everything she believes, to everything she’s worked for.”

“I probably have some talents,” Emma supplied after an awkward silence stretched out over them all. “Okay, so I can’t sing or anything, but I can do stuff.”

“Play an instrument?” Gold seized on the glimmer of hope. Emma shook her head. “Read a dramatic monologue?” Emma kept on shaking. “Perhaps you took some form of dance to keep fit?” Three strikes, Emma signaled with the fingers of her left hand.

“There is one thing. It’s a bit… I dunno, dinner theatre, maybe? But I have this superpower, okay? It’s what came to mind when Mary Margaret asked me about this, so maybe that’s a good sign?”

“Swan, listen, no—“

“Let the woman speak, Agent,” Regina snapped. “This is the one hope of us all avoiding national mortification.”

“Basically, I’m like a human lie detector. So if I got a volunteer up, I could sort of tell if they were lying? I don’t know exactly how to make that into a show, really, but it’s all I can think of.”

Regina looked past Emma’s shoulder at Gold, despairing and questioning at once.

“It’s better than nothing,” Gold conceded. “Let me work on the volunteers, I’ll let you know who to pick tomorrow before you get out there.”

“It’s very much today,” Emma sighed. “Now, what else do I need to survive the day?”

“Ah,” Gold said, producing two lumps of what looked like half-defrosted chicken from his pockets. “We need to work on the décolletage.”

“Those had better be, like, boob warmers,” Emma warned, but Regina wrested them from Gold’s grip and shoved them into Emma’s top with no ceremony at all. If Regina heard the way Emma gasped, she made no indication.

“Better,” Regina agreed, nodding at Gold. “No ‘A’ or ‘B’ has ever made it into the top five. You’re not quite a ‘D’, even with these, but it should make the bikini and first evening dress sit much more appealingly.”

“Careful,” Emma warned. “Pretty me up too much and I might just take your crown.”

“It’s not mine to lose,” Regina snapped. “And while we’ve made great strides, Miss Swan, let’s not completely lose our minds, hmm?”

Emma frowned, checking herself out in the nearest full-length mirror. There was something to be said for the extra oomph, at least until she caught Jones checking her out. A quick backhanded slap and he retreated to the safety of the buffet once more.

“We’ll get the bulk of your hair fixed now,” Gold decided, clapping his hands and sending at least three stylists scurrying towards them. “Touch up in the morning before you leave the room.”

“Shifts to maintain a hairstyle?”

“It’s all about the statement on the first full day,” Gold insisted. “And my girls always make a bold statement.”

“Okay, if you let this one with the curlers loose on my hair, the only statement I’ll be making is ‘Jolene, I’m begging of you, please don’t take my man’.”

“A little backcombing never hurt anyone,” Gold continued, tilting the mirrors and pointing each of the hairdressers to a different section of Emma’s messy blonde hair.

“If you say so, Sweeney Todd,” Emma sniped, looking to Regina for some solidarity. Unsurprisingly, she got none. Regina had finally settled on a bold red for Emma’s nails, and it didn’t seem like the weirdest thing to extend her hand and let Regina grasp it gently.

“No moving,” Regina warned. “I’m not staying up all night to redo this. You get two coats and a topcoat, not one smudge. Or else.”

Emma swallowed hard, nodding as much as the pulling and teasing of her hair would allow. She let her eyes close, wondering if she could finally develop the ability to sleep sitting up.

“Hey, Maine?” Emma murmured as everyone fell quiet and concentrated on the task at hand.

“No bathroom breaks for at least thirty minutes,” Regina snapped, moving the brush with calm precision over one nail and then the next.

“No, I just wanted to say… thank you. For helping out. You might be kind of mean and bossy, but you’re not totally evil.”

“Oh, Miss Swan,” Regina replied, with a chuckle that chilled Emma’s blood in her veins for just a moment. “I’m simply bringing you up to standard. Otherwise there wouldn’t be any fun in beating you.”

“Right,” Emma sighed. “Just let me know when I can use my fingers again.”

***

“That wasn’t so bad,” Jones tried as he walked her back to her room, skirting around the pool again. “And for what it’s worth, I’m actually starting to buy you as a beauty queen.”

Emma flipped him off, gorging on the one bear claw she’d been able to grab on the way out.

“Keep your grubby little fantasies to yourself, Jones. We’ve got bad guys to catch. Did you look into what the deal is with this Leo guy and the network firing him this year?”

“We’re following every lead,” Jones snapped, like Emma was a nosy reporter instead of one of the team. “You just concentrate on being Emmylou Freebush. And not falling on your face.”

“The sooner we catch this guy, the sooner I can get back to wearing flats,” Emma reminded him, shimmying over the balcony railing and slipping back into her room.

***

“She’s never waking up.”

“We can’t just leave her. She’ll be disqualified.”

“Girl, I have 45 minutes to finish my hair, I am not wasting that on this Boston Tea Party.”

“Hnng?” Emma raised her head from the pillow, wincing at the string of drool that she hastily wiped from her mouth. “Did I sleep in?”

“No wonder,” Tamara replied, going back to the vanity and starting to tease her hair out again. “Sneaking out in the middle of the night for dates.”

Emma popped her earpiece in as discreetly as possible, only to hear the jeers and catcalls of her caveman colleagues as they took in the sight of girls sitting around in their underwear.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed at their lewd behavior, prompting the other girls to stare at her like she was the demented pervert. “I have a bit of a headache. Sorry.”

“So where did he take you?” Mary Margaret persisted, sorting through the clothes she’d brought in with her. Somewhere along the line they’d agreed to all get ready together. Which she was just about to correct when Regina and Kathryn came stumbling into the room together, carrying clothes and makeup that must be for the morning interviews. Suddenly communal changing seemed like the best idea Emma had ever heard, and she hid behind her hair until the furious blush on her cheeks subsided.

“It wasn’t a date,” Emma told them, wandering over to her temporary closet and carefully looking for the blue ribbons around the hangers that denoted morning event. Luckily, the dress and blazer didn’t seem too different to what the others were fussing over. She winced as the teasing of Jones grew loud in her earpiece. “Well, he’s my ex, if you must know. He’s still kind of obsessed with me? It’s so sad, and I haven’t the heart to kick him every time, you know?”

“Well, not when you have the pageant to focus on,” Mary Margaret nodded sympathetically. “Is he handsome at least?”

“He likes to think so,” Emma answered. “But all that swagger is just compensation for—“ She broke off, looking around the room like it might be bugged (well, by someone other than her employers, anyway) and waited until everyone was leaning towards her, paying attention. “Girls, I don’t like to talk out of school, but we are talking about overcompensation of the saddest kind. I tried to keep an open mind, but…”

“Shrimpy?” Kathryn suggested.

“A shrimp would have been easier to locate,” Emma sucked in air through her teeth, smirking at the mockery on the airwaves now directed at Jones. “Honest to God, that third date, I thought I’d bagged myself a Ken doll.”

The cackling that erupted made Emma feel like herself for the first time in days. Even Regina joined in, though Emma could have sworn there was a flash of disappointment at the first mention of the fictional fling with Killian Jones; probably just wishful thinking on Emma’s part. Or delusions brought on by hairspray fumes.

“Emmylou,” Regina said as a flustered Jones tried to convince the listening Feds that they’d cobbled Emma’s amusing anecdote as a team. “Didn’t you have that sponsor meet in the Presidential? You know, your stylist was meeting you up there first?”

“He was? Oh, right,” Emma realized that nobody trusted her to get ready for the small stuff like the other girls were doing. “Did you, uh, want to tag along?”

“If it prevents you getting lost,” Regina sighed, like she’d just been asked to offer up a kidney. “Come on, robes are fine if we take the service elevator.” She threw a few of Emma’s things into a bag and gathered her own. “See you all at the interview suite,” she called out to the others, and Emma followed along meekly.

“Hey, if I’m taking you away from something more fun—“ Emma began, but Regina waved away her concern, despite having her arms full.

“It keeps things neater this way. And honestly, I don’t think Gold is letting you out there without his approval, so this way we prevent a scene.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, as they stepped into the elevator, a tall metal tray rack the only other occupant, clearly destined for the kitchens. She fumbled for some kind of small talk as they climbed the floors, but nothing occurred to her until the doors were sliding open at Presidential level.

“Your boyfriend mind you giving up so much time to this stuff?”

“Regina doesn’t waste her time on a boyfriend, dear,” Cora said, stepping into the hallway without actually seeming to have come from anywhere. “Why don’t you run along into Gold while I discuss the running order with Regina, hmm?”

Regina took a half-step back in what seemed to be panic, and every instinct in Emma told her to stay put, to offer a diversion.

“Yes, Emma,” Regina said, her voice barely shaking. “I’ll be right in to finish up when we’re done here.”

Reluctantly, Emma moved across to the front door of the suite, and before she could finish knocking, Aurora had appeared and whisked her inside. There was barely time to cast a look back at Regina, but when Emma did, she saw the usually unflappable girl looking sick to her stomach.

Hastily pulling her dress on, Emma let herself be plonked into the waiting hair and makeup chair. The stylists came and went, spending as much time and effort as usual, but somehow making the teasing and painting look way more natural than the previous day. Emma might have believed she actually looked like that all the time, if she hadn’t seen all the manual labor it took.

“Hey, Neal,” Emma called out as she saw him checking something on his tablet. “You got the security feeds on that?”

“Yeah,” he said, offering it up. “Knock yourself out.”

She clicked through a few menus to bring up the camera immediately outside the suite and wasn’t at all surprised to see Cora and Regina still locked in a pretty intense conversation. Cora actually had Regina kind of backed against the wall, and the way she was ranting it didn’t seem like there was much room for Regina to answer back. Emma had known more than a few foster moms exactly like that. Hopefully Regina had a nice mom at home to make up for working for a witch like Cora.

Eventually Regina was allowed to leave, but instead of following Emma into the suite, she got straight back on the elevator. It felt oddly like being abandoned, but just then a new stylist and her eyelash curlers took Emma hostage, leaving Neal to reclaim his screen with ease.

“Do you know what you’re going to say this morning?” Gold asked, hovering just outside of her peripheral vision. He had to know how annoying that was. “Remember, keep it light, keep it perky. No heavy issues. No controversy.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t propose my strategy for peace in the Middle East?” Emma snarked back.

“Oh, you can,” Gold countered. “But when you say it, it had better sound like ‘world peace’. Nothing more, nothing less. Trust me.”

“Come on, that has to be a dumb cliché,” Emma insisted, but Gold held firm. “I can’t say that without sounding like an idiot.”

“Agent Swan, I have every faith that you could recite the entirety of the Gettysburg address and still sound like an idiot. Let’s not shoot for the moon, here.”

“Nice. Way to boost my confidence.”

“Confidence? Dearie, if any of these girls had healthy self-esteem, do you think they’d need to have their looks and personality voted on? Cutting you down is the only way to build up a champion. It’s the only way to make a Miss United States.”

“Okay, cool it on the Sorkin speeches,” Emma snorted. “I’ll find a way to fake it convincingly.” She couldn’t help it, she looked up and met Neal’s gaze. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Not even a coffee yet and she’d scored a direct hit on the two biggest jerks in her life. Emma had to concede that if not for the waxing and the killer heels, she could almost get used to mornings like that.

***

“So, Emmylou,” Leo greeted her, leaning in to kiss her cheek and lingering just a bit too long within groping range. There was definitely a hint of eau de Bourbon under his recently gargled mouthwash. “This is really your first year in a professional pageant?”

“It is,” Emma confirmed. “I always wanted to, of course. I just wasn’t brave enough until this year.”

“You remind me of my own granddaughter,” Leo remarked, eyes glinting towards the camera. “I know, I know. I don’t look old enough to be a grandpappy, do I?”

“Uh, well, if you were very young when you had your kids, maybe?” Emma floundered, prompting a glare from Leo while the camera was on her.

“So, I see here that you’re training to be a teacher? Now, there’s a noble profession if ever I heard of one.”

“Well, Leo. I believe the children are our future, what can I say?”  
He rubbed his beard as she said that, and what he no doubt thought was a manly and devastatingly attractive style of facial hair, just had Emma mentally flipping through the FBI’s sex offender database.

“Behave yourself, Swan,” Jones warned over her earpiece. “Remember, this official interview is where people decide if they like you or not. It’s worth at least a third of your final score.”

“Now, here’s the biggie, Emmylou Freebush of Massachusetts: what would you say is the one thing our society needs most of all?”

“Well, I think we should look at our penal system, Leo. The way we spend money locking up everyone with a parking ticket is absurd. Studies show that spending money on rehabilitation instead of simple incarceration makes a huge impact. Why, in Norway—“

“Swan!” Gold’s voice roared in her ear next. “Why are you turning off the entire nation with your policy wonking? Stick. To. The. Script.”

“Sorry,” Emma muttered. “What I’m trying to say really is… world peace. That’s what we should be aiming for.”

“Wonderful,” Leo encouraged her with a wink. “Now, let’s find out just a little bit more about you…”

***

“That was… God!” Emma booted a trashcan across the waiting area, and instantly felt better for it. Mary Margaret had followed her out on stage, taking her turn to babble some inane answers.

Jones came rushing in, waving a file at Emma and steering her to a quiet corner.

“We’ve got art,” he announced, triumphant. “Your squeaky little friend out there has got a history with PETA. First a little paint-throwing, then some very violent protesting. Mostly in Canada, though. And you know what they’re like about actually arresting anyone.”

“You’re saying the girl out there talking about whether yellow or white daisies make her smile more is some kind of criminal? Nice try, Jones. But you can’t just fit someone up so you can go hit on the contestants.”

“It’s not about an easy out. She could be somebody’s inside man. Not even knowingly. You’re going to have to girl talk her entire life out of her. Preferably by this evening.”

“Oh sure. ‘Have a Slimfast, say, any registered felons been emailing you lately?’ No way she’ll see through that.”

“Emmylou!” Gold called out from the other side of the tented area. He trilled it just enough to irritate her, too. “A word, my dear charge?”

“We’re working,” Emma snapped. “Go find a poodle to perm, could ya?”  
“No time,” Gold answered, sneering just a little. “I’ve just glimpsed the running order and you’re up first in the talent section. Which means you’re in front of the audience, ten minutes from now.”

“What the hell?” Emma groaned, looking around for an exit. “Is there a reason I’m getting even less time to prepare?”

“Cora thought putting you first would make it all but forgotten by the time all the girls have gone,” Gold told her. “She really is quite brilliant, you know.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Emma snorted. “Did you get me a volunteer?”

“Pick anyone you like for this,” Gold said. “It’s not being recorded or televised. Once I see your improv I’ll know who to pick for tomorrow.”

“Oh, this just went from almost insane to downright batshit,” Emma warned them. “Cover me, you idiots. Start a fire, if you have to.”

***

“So,” Emma vamped again, feeling the sweat prickling all over her forehead. Texas didn’t believe in cool mornings, it seemed. “Anyone who’s ever said ‘I could beat a polygraph’, why don’t you come on up here and prove it? Any takers?”

For a moment no one in the crowd moved. Stetsons bobbed in her line of vision in every direction, from coal black to immaculate white, obscuring faces and making Emma feel vaguely seasick. Just as the silence stretched into embarrassing, Neal came sauntering down the side aisle, a newly-acquired Stetson of his own in place.

“Well, thank you, _sir_ ,” Emma greeted him with a fake, tinkling laugh. “Seems someone in San Antonio has cojones after all.”

That sent a competitive ripple running through the crowd, and Emma began to feel like she could pull it off. Still dressed in her summer dress and blazer from the interview round, she found herself almost wishing for the bikini round as the sun beat down on her.

“You mic’ed?” She mouthed to Neal under the guise of welcoming him to the stage with a handshake and half a hug. He nodded, stubble rasping against her cheek. Great, that would be yet another touch-application from Gold’s foundation fascists.

As she turned to remind the crowd of how it would work, Emma spotted a weedy-looking guy standing off to the side, dressed in a three-piece woollen suit despite the climbing Texas temperatures. He was staring, transfixed at the stage, although not at Emma herself. She smacked Neal’s elbow out of the audience’s sight and indicated her new target with a raising of her eyebrows.

“Now, sir,” she continued, handing him a piece of card and a marker. “There you’ll see five questions, all with a simple yes or no answer. I would like you to answer all five honestly, without letting me see. Then you fold that card up, and put it right there in your pocket.”

“Okay,” he said with an easy smile, shrugging at the crowd.

“Now it’s important these are the honest answers,” she reminded him. “Although you can try your damndest to give me false ones when I ask you out loud, okay?”

“Sure, lil’ lady,” he replied, to a smattering of applause. “I’m happy to oblige.”

“He’s moving,” she muttered, hopefully close enough to be picked up on Neal’s mic. “Anyone got eyes?”

Neal shook his head. He motioned for her to hold off, but at the same time she saw Creepy reach for his inside pocket.

“Not so fast,” Emma thought, and before she could reconsider, she launched herself from the stage in a running leap, tackling the potential perp at waist height, practically NFL regulation.

“Get off me!” He yelped, wriggling underneath her in the dirt at the side of the path. “What is wrong with you? I was just getting my lighter! Dammit!”

Emma turned to the approaching local cops for support, but she was quickly silenced as they lifted her bodily off the man. She could blurt out her real identity, but the cold dread in her stomach said this really wasn't her guy. Not least when he pulled the mentioned lighter from his pocket after all.

“Sorry,” she said, staring down at her feet. “I’m just, uh, really anti-smoking?”

The man glared at her as the other officers helped him up.

“You’re lucky I don’t press charges,” Creepy spat. “As it is, you can forget about my vote, Massachusetts.”

Emma’s mortification was complete. The moment the officers let her go, she went rushing off towards the changing area. Somewhere in there, there had to be a lockable door she could cry behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, the rest will be posted tomorrow (currently sharing custody of my laptop keys with a tiny, sassy kitten).

She didn't make it all the way to the communal changing room in the end, because her shortcut past the trailers made her easy pickings for Cora to swoop in and wreck her day some more.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Cora hissed, guiding Emma up the steps to her trailer. Inside it was the explosion of gaudy, overstated alleged good taste that Emma would have expected. Even the cushions threatened to give her a migraine. “I’ve made my accommodations for the FBI, but you will not bring shame on this event, or on me. Do I make myself clear?”

“I thought he had a gun!” Emma protested.

“This is Texas, sweetheart. Everyone has a gun. My dog groomer carries a Colt .45, for God’s sakes.”

“I was trying to protect your damn pageant!”

“It is a scholarship program. Oh, I see.”

“You see what?” Emma spat, shrugging off the mantle of submissive contestant she’d been forced to adopt, and clicking right back into her most aggressive agent mode.

“You’re nothing new, Agent. Not even close to original. My whole life I’ve listened to the snide comments, the superiority from man hating, judgmental _feminists_ like you.” Cora said feminist with the same fire-breathing hatred that Emma reserved for child murderers. “And it’s a shame in your case. You’re not even ugly. That’s usually the excuse.”

“I was doing my job,” Emma insisted one more time. “Trust me, being in the firing line too makes me the best bet for this thing going off without a hitch.”

“Perhaps it’s too much trouble. I’m sure the network can provide some additional private security…”

“You want mall cops guarding the girls in Gucci and Prada? Be my guest,” Emma fired back, hands on her hips now. Hips that were squeezed unbearably by industrial-grade Spanx, and hands that sported perfectly manicured nails.

“Mother!” Regina came bundling through the trailer door, slapping her hand over her mouth at the sight of Emma. “I mean, uh, Cora, I—“

“Stupid girl,” Cora spat. “My God, it’s like you’re determined to sabotage everything I’ve done for you.”

“Wait, she’s your Mom?”

“Emmylou, not now,” Regina answered through gritted teeth. “Cora, I heard you took her in here and I just wanted to make sure that—“

“What? What could I possibly do to an agent of the law, Regina? Use your head. For once.”

“Okay, well clearly you don’t need me for this part,” Emma saw a chance to escape and took it. “I’ll go get changed for the next prelim round. Can’t keep Gold waiting.”

“Me too,” Regina snapped to attention.

“Regina, we have to talk—“

“Someone has to stop her throwing herself at any more judges,” Regina reminded her mother. “We’ll talk later.”

“See that we do,” Cora replied with a sneer. “Well, get going. Both of you. And bring no more shame on my pageant, or there will be consequences.”

“Yes, Cora,” they chorused, but Emma was pretty sure she was the only one rolling her eyes as they skipped down the steps.

***

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned as she limped back to the room she shared with Tamara. “What kind of event puts girls in neck-breaking heels and gives them nowhere to sit for five hours?”

“This kind,” Jones answered, leaning against her doorframe. “We’ve got ten minutes before your roomie gets done with her round of posing.”

“Did you smooth over the whole attacking the judge thing?” Emma asked, more hopeful than she deserved to be. She’d fake-smiled so much all afternoon that both cheeks hurt and she couldn’t remember what the natural, relaxed position of her mouth was.

“Your assignment tonight is girl talk,” Jones told her, ignoring the question. “Get that Blanchard girl to talk, find out if she’s the mole for our explosive enthusiast. And then I can take the credit for a job well done and we can all get out of here.”

“Well, I’m flying solo if I do,” Emma decided. “I can’t think with you assholes shooting the breeze in my ear all night.” She handed over her regulation earpiece, giving him a glare that allowed for no arguments. “Now let me grab a shower, no way am I going to convince anyone of anything feeling like this.”

“Emmylou?” Tamara’s voice sounded from the hallway. 

“Got dibs on the shower!” Emma yelled back, dashing for the en suite bathroom.

***

“Regina’s not coming?” Emma asked, pulling on a pair of tight jeans that she fully intended to take home as the only perk she’d had so far. “Did she say why?”

“Something about not wanting to get in trouble,” Kathryn sighed. “I mean, we really aren’t supposed to leave hotel grounds. I heard a rumor they’re getting extra security in and everything this year.”

“To hell with that,” Emma grunted, pulling her tanktop down over her still-damp hair. “You round up the rest of the troops, meet me at the service elevator, okay?”

“Listen, I’ve known Regina since we were doing diaper commercials,” Kathryn warned, accepting a shot of whisky from Tamara, who poured on the generous side. “If she says she’s not doing something, you may as well give up. Neither hell nor high water has ever changed that girl’s mind.”

“Kitty Kat is right,” Tamara agreed, knocking back her own shot, offering another to Mary Margaret, who nursed the glass instead of putting it anywhere near her mouth. “In Maine, they don’t say stubborn as a mule. They say stubborn as that Mills girl. Trust me.”

“Well, no harm in trying,” Emma said. “Seriously, meet me in 5. We have earned a night off, and then some.”

***

Tamara’s jaw actually dropped when Emma directed a very irritated Regina towards their table near the bar. The music was pounding, the generic Euro dance tracks that only made sense when you were wasted, and Emma was depressingly far from that. 

“How did you--” Kathryn began, but Emma waved her off. 

“A magician never reveals her secrets.” It shut down the curiosity, and besides, being undercover meant she could basically order Regina to do stuff. Which had made her cranky and barely cooperative, but Emma would take small victories.

“Right,” she said, waving down a waiter and muttering an order to him out of primadonna earshot. “Let’s get drinking, ladies.”

“This is a monumentally bad idea,” Regina reminded them, but Kathryn was already passing out weirdly glowing shots in test tubes. 

“Don’t worry, I ordered food to soak up some of the booze,” Emma chimed in. “Who doesn’t love wings and mozzarella sticks, am I right?” The horrified groans stopped being convincing as the waiter appeared with the first basket of fries. 

“You’re a terrible influence,” Tamara sighed, before swooping to claim some fries. “If I get points off for a poochy tum tomorrow, you’re going down.”

“Hey, Mary Margaret,” Emma pulled her aside as they made room for more drinks and food to be laid out for them. “You okay?”

“Me? I’m fine. Are you? I haven’t seen you since you tackled that man.”

“Well, my knees are as bruised as my pride,” Emma told her, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’m just really into anti-smoking campaigns, you know? I’d totally model for them, if they ever needed healthy looking people.”

“Oh, I’m totally against it too. My pet rabbit got cancer, you know? Okay, not in the lungs. But our neighbors used to smoke right next to his hutch, so I always suspected…”

“Right.” Emma nodded to stop her eyes from rolling. The idea of this one being a criminal mastermind got more remote by the second. “Say, do you have a boyfriend here cheering you on? Or like, an uncle… or something?”

“No, just my coach. It was pretty pricy to fly everyone out when they can watch on TV. And it’s not like I’m gonna win, so…”

“You should stop putting yourself down,” Emma insisted, laying a hand on Mary Margaret’s wrist for just a moment. It felt awkward as hell, but all the training manuals emphasized the benefits of non-threatening physical contact when trying to engender trust. “Who knows who’ll win? If we did, they wouldn’t make 50 of us parade around in bikinis, would they?”

“Guess not,” Mary Margaret sighed. “Damn, I can’t stop thinking about my poor bunny now. He was so cute.”

“You like animals, huh? Ever think of joining one of those cool groups that go around setting them free from labs and stuff?”

“Those activists? Oh, no,” Mary Margaret lied. “I mean, I’ve signed a few petitions, marched a few times. But I have way too much at stake right now to risk getting arrested.”

“I know how that goes,” Emma sympathized. “I got in some trouble as a kid, nearly derailed my whole life.”

“But here you are,” Mary Margaret was positively beaming. “A teacher, or about to be. I think we’re in good hands if you’re teaching the next generation.”

“I don’t know,” Emma mused, remembering the college offers she hadn’t been able to take when the scholarship fell through, the law degree her heart had been set on. The Police Academy had been a good home for her, passing her on to the FBI when they realized her potential extended beyond parking tickets and domestic disputes. Come to think of it, Emma couldn’t recall a time since when anyone had talked of her in those glowing terms. “I guess we all find out where we’re meant to be, huh?”

“Oh good lord,” Regina interrupted. “Barely on your second and you’re already talking about where you’re meant to be? I expected better from our resident rabble rouser.”

“You talk in headlines, you know that?”

“It’s a gift.”

“I’m gonna, uh, get some of the wings,” Mary Margaret murmured, and somehow Emma sort of forgot to look around and acknowledge her. Which had nothing—straight up nothing—to do with the dress Regina was apparently hiding under her jacket on the way over. Calling it low-cut might undersell the effect on cleavage, and if Wonderbra could push that hard, no wonder their bras cost more than Emma was usually willing to pay.

“You’re drinking, at least,” Emma remarked, grabbing new glass tubes from their passing waiter. “If I tell you this is also a paint party, how fast will you run?”

Regina rolled her eyes.

“I’m here now. The damage is done. But do me a favour and don’t warn anyone else. You owe me their reactions.”

“Maybe I do. Speaking of reactions—“

“I avoided you all afternoon for a reason, Agent.”

“Hey! Mind my cover. Blow it now and I can’t stop some psycho from blowing you all up between now and Sunday night.”

“Well, God knows Sunday night television could do with better drama,” Regina sighed into her drink, just a touch of the melodramatic in the gesture.

“You won’t be saying that when your Manolos are vaporized,” Emma felt the anger rise in her throat, but unlike the frustrations of work, this was exciting. Like sparring at the gym, when the trainers turned a blind eye and let the punches really land.

“If I’m wearing them at the time, no. I don’t suppose I’ll be saying much of anything.”

“You think it makes you edgy to pretend like you don’t care if you live or die?”

“Does it? You’ve met my mother, Emma. Are you sure I’m pretending? Maybe I’m going out and taking you all with me.”

“Careful, or I might arrest you,” Emma warned.

“Sounds like a flimsy excuse to see me in handcuffs,” Regina replied, right as Emma downed her next drink. The coughing and sputtering weren’t exactly the suave response Emma could have hoped for, but she sure as hell didn’t miss the glint of a challenge accepted in Regina Mills’ eye.

“I, uh… ladies room,” Emma choked out after a moment, slipping from her bar stool and making her way instinctively to the back of the bar. She hadn’t had time to scout out the location, but she’d been aware of constant foot traffic back and forth from that point in her peripheral vision. Sometimes an educated guess was better than a guided tour, anyway.

The line for the ladies room was, naturally, miles long. Emma joined, resisting the urge to pull her warrant card from its hidden pocket in her leather pants and declare a fake emergency. Not so much for moral reasons, as she would blow her cover with the other pageant girls if they were anywhere nearby.

“Amateur,” came the whisper in her ear. Before she could react, Emma found herself being dragged down the corridor by Regina, almost tripping even in the flats she’d opted for on the big night out. At the end of the hallway, Regina produced a key from her purse and unlocked a private bathroom.

“I told you, I’ve been doing these pageants for years. You don’t think I know the people who work at the first bar outside of hotel grounds?”

“Okay, but it would have been more impressive if you picked the lock,” Emma decided. “Are you, uh?”

“Do you really want to use the bathroom?” Regina asked, each syllable slow and exaggerated.

“No,” Emma admitted. “I was just, uh…”

“Trying to hide how flustered you were?” 

“Maybe.”

“You failed. But I still brought you in here anyway, so…”

Well. Occasionally Emma could take the damn hint. With more conviction that she actually possessed, she grabbed hold of Regina’s hips and pushed her back against the cool tiles. By the time Regina’s back made impact, Emma’s lips were on hers, skipping right past the timid little peck and into something with a lot more intent.

“Oh,” Regina sighed against her mouth a few moments later. “You can kiss. I thought you might--”

“Shut up,” Emma warned her, not caring about undercover or bombers or visible panty lines for the first time in days. “Or I’ll stop.”

Regina responded by tugging on Emma’s hair, a death grip that pulled her back for an open-mouthed kiss, tasting of fading peppermint and the fruity alcohol they’d already knocked back. Maybe it was all the expensive lipsticks and glosses, but Regina’s lips were like velvet against Emma’s own. The lack of oxygen kicked in too soon, and with barely a gasp, Emma sought further kisses, her hands wandering as enthusiastically as Emma’s own.

Just as Regina’s hand slipped beneath Emma’s tanktop, the bathroom door swung open. Emma didn’t even look, but Regina’s glare sent the intruder scurrying back out into the club. Unfortunately, it was interruption enough to break the moment, and Emma reluctantly pulled her hands away from where they’d just met the hem of Regina’s dress, mere inches from a very gratifying squeeze of that frankly perfect ass.

“Well. I suppose I should have locked that again from the inside. Anyway, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be working,” Regina accused, stalking over to the sink and checking her makeup in the mirror. “Not that I care, remember?”

“I’ve been working,” Emma countered. “Look, I’ll work some more. Regina Mills, are you planning to blow up anyone or anything in tomorrow’s pageant?”

Regina made her wait, the silence growing uncomfortable.

“No,” Regina told her, shaking her head once, twice. “I have no interest in winning this thing. But without it, my life wouldn’t be worth living. So I mean it no harm. Shouldn’t you have checked that before jumping me?”

“I jumped you?” Emma blurted in response. “Uh, I don’t think… shit,” she changed course, pulling her vibrating phone from her pocket. “I’m being called back to the hotel.”

“Can you find your way?”

“Yeah. It’s like three palm trees down and cut across the golf course. You coming?”

“I think I’ll stay for the paint bit,” Regina announced, making her way over to the door. “Their reactions really will be priceless.”

“I guess this is goodnight, then?”

“Goodnight, Agent Swan.”

“It’s Emmylou, remember?”

“Yes,” Regina replied, her dark eyes inscrutable as she looked Emma up and down one more time. “Emmylou.”

***

Jones was waiting on her balcony, ready to steer her back through the hotel to Gold’s Presidential Suite. Emma rolled her eyes at the sight of the room in chaos again, until she realized that instead of prepping her for another industrial polishing session, they were actually packing up.

“What the hell?” She called out to the room in general. “Killian, what’s happening?”

“We’re done here.”

“Someone is still threatening these girls--”

“Listen, finish the pageant if you want, but we’re going home to celebrate. I kept a little something on the backburner and it paid off. The Citizen, cuffed and waiting for us back in Boston.”

“That’s right, Swan,” DD Lucas herself entered the suite, Ruby of all people right on her heels. “I’m not convinced this was ever anything more than some copycat cashing in for some attention. And not even doing it that well. Jones gets the solve, we move on.”

“Boss, I swear to you. Someone is trying to hurt these girls. The Citizen might be arrested, but we’re not done with the situation here.”

“You either get on the plane with Jones and Cassidy, or take the rest of the weekend as unpaid leave. Don’t even try to expense your flight back to Boston, either.”

“Granny, Emma is right. When she has a gut feeling, you have to trust her. I can practically smell that something isn’t right here.”

“Ruby, you’re welcome to resubmit for evaluation and getting certified to use a gun again. But until then, stay out of my official business.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ruby sighed, her shoulders slumping.

“Come along, agents.”

“I’ll wait and fly back with Emma,” Ruby replied, agent or not. “I still have a bunch of miles to burn through, and she might get lonely.”

“Ruby—“

“Don’t start with me, Granny. You’re the one who always said I should have the courage of my convictions.”

“No guns. Either of you. You get what that means, right?”

“We’re just playing bodyguard to the girls,” Emma lied. “Won’t even need one.”

“For a human lie detector, you can’t lie for shit, Swan,” the Deputy Director warned her, heading for the exit. “Don’t make me regret not forcing you onto my plane tonight.”

“Yes ma’am,” Emma replied, resisting the urge for a mock salute. She smiled at Ruby in solidarity. “Didn’t think I’d see you back in the field with me.”

“I’m not,” Ruby reminded her. “I’m here to make sure you keep your promise to me. I’m getting you back in one piece, okay?”

“I really do think something’s going down here, Rubes. Probably right in the middle of tomorrow’s finale.”

“I believe you. I tried to tell Granny back in Boston, even came on the plane to talk her into following your lead. Guess you’re back on the naughty list if she isn’t sparing you even a day’s worth of manpower.”

“Miss Swan, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure,” Gold interrupted, trying to wrangle a bunch of dresses that the Bureau had definitely paid for into a battered suitcase. “But I think we can both be proud of how far we got you. Cora will slip in an announcement about a family emergency, I’m sure.”

“Wait, where the hell are you going?” Emma yelped, not proud of the sudden desperation. “Didn’t you hear me say that I need to stay in the pageant?”

“I don’t see why,” Gold responded. “It’s clear nothing is actually meant to happen. And I don’t see the harm in telling the girls now why you’re really here.”

“Because one of them--”

“Agent Swan?” A tech guy approached, holding out some papers. “These are meant for Agent Jones, but everyone’s sort of clearing out.”

“I’ll take it,” Emma snapped, grabbing the offered sheets. DNA results jumped out at her from the mass of text, and the game-changing information she needed. Dashing out into the hallway, she was relieved to find Jones and Lucas still in conversation, the rest of the team already whisked away by the elevator.

“Swan, give us a moment--” the Deputy Director began, but Emma barreled right ahead.

“It’s not the Citizen,” she announced, ignoring the pitying expressions coming back at her. “I mean, I agree it’s not. The DNA from the threat’s envelope is female. By the way, Jones, what’s the deal with not putting a rush on the results?”

“He’s never left trace evidence on anything before now,” Jones volleyed right back. “It was a formality, not one expected to turn anything up.”

“So, yes,” Emma plowed on. “We have a copycat. A female copycat, or possibly back to our theory of a female accomplice on the inside. I need to work on these beauty queens tomorrow and unearth something, anything, to eliminate this threat.”

“Listen, Swan,” Lucas stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Emma thought for a moment about shrugging it off. “I get that you’re pissed at falling behind. You’ve had some bad luck in your last few cases, and you’re not top of the pile like you want to be. But you’ve got to stop chasing shadows, okay? Wasting resources isn’t the way to get back on track.”

“You have to listen to me,” Emma insisted. “There is a woman somewhere in this complex who is going to hurt, or help to hurt, everyone in this pageant. I feel it in my bones, boss. I mean it.”

“I said you can stay as a private citizen,” Lucas repeated. “That’s the best I’m prepared to do. Jones, hold back here and collect Agent Swan’s badge and gun, could you? She won’t be needing them until Monday morning.”

Lucas called the elevator back up and left Emma to her disbelieving silence in front of Jones, who only made matters worse by sticking his hand out expectantly.

“I don’t have my gun on me,” Emma informed him, yanking out her badge and slapping it into his waiting hand. “Just like you didn’t have my back, you piece of shit.”

“Hey, enough with the name-calling. I can’t help that I solved this first, okay? It was just some kooky anonymous tipoff about a cabin being broken into. I lucked out. You gotta let that go.”

“I don’t care about that right now. So I got one less case on my docket next week, big whoop,” Emma complained. “I had to fight to even get on that case, and just when it turns out there’s a whole other case here, I get shoved back on the bench. Tell me how that’s fair.”

“I have your back when it doesn’t cost me my career,” Jones told her, the hint of a smirk flickering over his lips. “But when you go off the reservation like this… nah. Not worth the risk, love. Don’t forget, you’re just as bad as me.”

“Hey, guys,” Ruby said, stepping out into the hall. “I gotta go book myself into a room. Emma?”

“I’ll go with Ruby,” Jones said. “I’ll pick up your gun if you tell me where it’s stashed.”

“Under my mattress,” Emma told him, conceding the battle. If she neglected to mention the other two stored in a shoebox and a jumbo box of tampons, respectively, well… that was his bad luck. Let him solve that little mystery before disappearing back up his own ass.

“I’ll be down in a bit,” Emma agreed. “Be gone by then, okay?”

Jones nodded, before leading the way to the elevator, Ruby falling in step with him. Emma heard her mutter something with a “Killian” tacked on and grimaced at the divided loyalties. Killian had been best friends with Ruby’s tragically-killed boyfriend, Peter, and although things had been strained there for a while, they both had that common ground that Emma couldn’t help but resent a little.

“Gold,” she barked, marching back into the Presidential Suite and wishing she’d worn something less revealing than a tanktop and leather pants. “We are not done, you hear me?”

“Actually, the FBI stop paying me in… 33 minutes,” Gold corrected, checking his watch. “So we’re pretty much done, princess.”

“Don’t princess me. You’ve been paid plenty. Don’t think I haven’t inventoried everything here, so I know just how many freebies you’ve pocketed. I’d hate to have to call my good buddy at the IRS and mention all your fraudulent deductibles for the past ten years, too…”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.” Emma straightened her stance, hopefully making it clear that they’d passed the exit for fucking around time, and there would be no turning back on this particular trip. “Now, if I come here in the morning for swimsuits and hair curling, you’ll be here?”

“If we’re to make a deal--”

“The deal is already struck, you pompous ass,” Emma spat. “You just have to honor it. Understood?”

“If I’m staying pro bono, then you do everything I say,” Gold conceded. “With a minimum of backchat, so we’re clear.”

“Fine.” Emma nodded, as though the task wasn’t one of the most impossible she’d ever been handed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to cleanse-tone-moisturize before bed.”

“Oh,” Gold said, suddenly choked with emotion. “You almost said that like a real girl, Pinocchio.”

“Bite me,” Emma called out, striding out of the damned suite and off towards the relative sanctuary of a room shared with Tamara.

She made it most of the way down the corridor, watching Killian leave the room with her gun no doubt secured in his embarrassing leather coat. Twenty yards from her room, Emma felt a hand grip her upper arm and pull her past a suddenly-opened door.

“Regina,” Emma sighed in relief as she was guided into a hotel room that appeared to be the mirror image of her own.

“We need to talk, Agent Swan,” Regina told her, face as solemn as the grave. “You’d better sit down.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story earns its 'grown-up' rating. Ahem. Here be smut.

Regina, naturally, had a whole room to herself. A room littered with decorative touches that mirrored the oppressive atmosphere of Cora’s trailer, only Regina had thankfully had the sense to throw open the windows and let some air circulate. The unused bed was draped with gowns that put Gold’s selection for Emma to shame, and suddenly staying to see the rest of the pageant seemed even more urgent.

“So what did you need to talk about?” Emma asked, sitting in the armchair by the window without waiting to be asked. She could feel a blush rising in her cheeks at a split-second memory of their earlier makeout session, and it was a struggle to keep her game face on. “Only I just lost most of my backup and I have a shitload of work to do.”

“I was summoned,” Regina replied, pacing back and forth between the closets and her bed. Maybe the pageants had knocked the modesty out of her, but she had dressed for bed in an outfit that was little more than underwear. Emma couldn’t help wondering if that meant Regina actually slept naked. It wasn’t wise to consider what Emma could give to find out. “By my mother. Almost to the second after I got back from the bar.”

“If you want to yell at me because you got in trouble with Mommy--”

“No, you idiot. She wanted me to know that the FBI were closing down their investigation. Is that true?”

“Like I said, I just lost most of my team. My boss came down just to pull the plug. Does it matter? I thought you Mills chicks would be thrilled to get rid of our interference.”

“That’s the thing,” Regina said, rubbing at her temples with her fingertips. “She was positively thrilled. You could actually see a weight lifting from her shoulders.”

“So we’ve been a pain in the ass. I get it. But I’m sticking it out, even if I can’t do much by myself--”

“You’re staying?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Oh. Well. That’s good. Providing you’re any use to us alone.”

“Regina? What aren’t you telling me?” Emma took the risk, rising from the chair and standing in the middle of Regina’s pacing trajectory. As Regina changed course, Emma resorted to reaching out and laying a hand on her arm, no grabbing or clutching to spook her any further. “Is this something to do with the fact that the threat had female DNA on the envelope?”

“It did?” Regina’s poker face was impressive, but Emma caught the tremor in her jaw. 

“Yeah, and you already knew that,” Emma continued. “Which means either you licked that envelope. Or you know the woman who did.”

“I can’t--”

“I’m not gonna say it out loud, but it’s who I think, right? That’s why you can’t tell me? What happens if you tell me, Regina?”

The split-second of panic in Regina’s eyes made Emma feel sick to her stomach. 

Emma had lived that panic herself, more times that she had ever cared to count. The plummeting feeling on hearing a foster parent’s unexpected return, the cold dread of walking home from school with another note about her appearance or behavior. 

“Hey, hey,” Emma tried to smooth things over. “Nobody ever needs to know you said anything, okay? This isn’t even an official investigation anymore. Your name never needs to be on a piece of paper.”

“Please,” Regina scoffed. “I have no reason to trust you.”

“You realize that if she’s planning something, it could hurt you, too? Are you sure she’ll get you out of the crossfire first?”

“Of course!” Regina looked scandalized. “She’s my m--you know why. Of course she’ll spare me.”

“And you’re sure that there’s going to be something? It’s not just a hoax for publicity?”

“I thought so, at first. I mean, I don’t want to think that she’s capable of… but Sidney is definitely up to something. She usually keeps him on a tight leash, and he’s been all over the event this weekend instead.”

“What if they’re just rigging it so you win?”

“Trust me, Emma,” Regina pleaded. “My mother doesn’t want me to be crowned, not really. What she really wants is to relive her glory days, when she could lord it over all the other women. And I need to come close enough to validate how special her success was. I’m not actually expected to measure up.”

“That’s pretty sad, if it’s true.”

“Yes, get your tiny violin out for my terrible life,” Regina snapped. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Who’s pitying you?” Emma demanded. “You’re not just the hottest person I’ve ever seen in real life, Regina. It’s clear you’ve got a killer brain and a big heart to go with it.”

“You know nothing about my heart,” Regina corrected, folding her arms over her chest, not even slightly ridiculous in the camisole and tiny shorts passing for nightwear. “It might be all black and shriveled, for all you know.”

“But you admit to being some kind of genius?”

“Yes. I suppose I do.”

“On that note, I should go,” Emma sighed. “See you at swimsuits, hmm?”

“Emma, wait--”

Emma didn’t quite reach the door before Regina practically charged towards her, pinning her back against that very same door.

“We shouldn’t--” Emma breathed, eyes already drinking in the hitch in Regina’s breathing, the way her brown eyes had darkened even further. Willpower, elusive at the best of times, was starting to crumble like so much sand.

“Everyone’s in bed now anyway,” Regina rationalized, and it was excuse enough to let Emma fall into the first kiss when it landed gently on her lips. “There’ll still be crime to solve in the morning, Agent.”

That final word, in Regina’s husky voice, murmured against Emma’s cheek turned her almost entirely to liquid. Emma actually started to slide down the door a little, but Regina’s hands were on her hips, holding her up with surprising strength. 

One hand moved, and Emma mourned the loss instantly, her skin cool beneath her leather pants where a moment ago it was burning. There was a click as the door locked, and then Regina was holding her again, steering her towards the bed not covered in thousands of dollars worth of couture.

For a moment, Emma considered changing that and sprawling out on the dresses instead. How good would all that silk feel against bare skin, when they got down to it? How stunning would Regina be, naked and spread for Emma in that sea of reds and purples and blacks deeper than the night sky itself? The thought alone sent a fresh pulse surging between Emma’s thighs.

“You,” Emma decided, getting a hold of herself and pulling Regina down on top of her on the bed. “Are a bad influence.” They kissed some more, the fleeting pressure of Regina’s tongue both urgent and not. She eased Emma’s tanktop up and over her head, her bra dispensed with in a practiced flick of her fingers. 

The air in the room had turned chilly, but Regina’s body was warm, inviting; the pressure of skin against skin was enough to ward off the cold. Her camisole didn’t remain trapped between their bodies for long, she pulled it up and off in one graceful movement that also knocked out the loose bun she’d styled her hair in. Their undone hair tangled between them, and caught on their lips a few times, Emma still with a faint sheen of sticky lipgloss that she had hastily reapplied before confronting Jones and Gold. She giggled for a helpless moment, before Regina’s deft hands pushed Emma’s blonde curls back and they resumed kissing without obstacles.

Regina began to chart a path down Emma’s willing body, starting with the lines of her neck before luxuriating in the breathless little moans that Emma couldn’t help each time Regina’s lips or tongue swept across her clavicle. That touch was warmth and at times almost pure electricity. There was a quiet but genuine fear in Emma’s mind that her heart would give up on her completely, so loudly was it thumping in her chest.. She couldn’t remember ever _wanting_ this hard before. It was a million miles, a whole other galaxy in fact, from her academy fumbles with Neal or the well-intended but rarely successful one-night stands she’d indulged in since. Relationships were for people who could say ‘no’ to ten hours of overtime on a Sunday, people who could push the messy case-files from the bed at night instead of falling asleep sprawled across them.

Emma felt her nipple pucker under Regina's tongue, making Emma grasp instinctively and hold Regina’s head in place at her left breast, as Emma’s body arched upwards. She wanted to whisper something meaningful into the not-quite silence between them. She wanted, despite her usual ineptitude, to say something that would make Regina feel this dizzy, breathtaking desire every bit as much as Emma herself. She wanted to call Regina beautiful, gorgeous, any of the thousand compliments lined up on the tip of Emma’s tongue, until she remembered how easily and how often those words had been thrown around all weekend. Someone this gorgeous, this assured and publicly admired? Hell, Emma Swan’s crappy compliments wouldn’t even have registered on Regina’s personal Richter scale. 

She swallowed the idea instead, and when she next dared to speak (at the grazing pressure of Regina’s sharp teeth against a hard nipple) all Emma could think to say was ‘please’.

As Regina’s hand dipped lower, Emma resisted the urge to fall back and be a total pillow queen for that first act. Instead she grabbed at both of Regina’s wrists, pulling her up again to kiss her mouth, and as Regina got lost in the meeting of their mouths, Emma found it no challenge at all to flip them over. The body she’d been struck dumb by even in a plain gray dress was now laid out in front of her, and Emma wondered if looking too long would make her go blind. It would be worth it, so long as the image of Regina, slightly breathless and flushed in the face and oh so faintly across her chest, remained burned into Emma’s memory forever.

Not just the restless tension of those discreet and sculpted muscles, but the energy of Regina, the radiating heat that came off her in waves. She looked like desire personified, and that she could feel that way about fucking Emma Swan, who couldn’t tweeze her way out of a paper bag three days ago, was almost enough to blow Emma’s mind for real.

Regina tipped her head back against the bed’s sole pillow, thighs parting a fraction further in invitation. Emma could barely decide where to start, falling on Regina with tongue and fingertips that refused to still. Collecting evidence like any shrewd investigator, Emma mentally cataloged every sigh and swallowed curse, noting which patch of impossibly soft skin offered up the best reactions, dwelling anywhere that sounded like a success. Somehow, Regina tasted like summer, as she grabbed at the sheets with enough force to tear them. As Emma flicked her tongue more forcefully over the nipple causing that reaction, Regina abandoned the functional white cotton to grab Emma’s hair instead. She pulled just hard enough to make Emma’s scalp tingle with a light and pleasant pain, the possessiveness of the gesture going straight to Emma’s clit.

“No marks,” Regina hissed as Emma lingered a moment too long and sucked a little harder on her next trip to the base of Regina’s neck. Emma teased, digging her manicured nails into Regina’s skin where she was currently stroking her hips. The semi-circles that appeared for a brief moment were satisfying, and Emma leaned in close to make her reply.

“I won’t mark anywhere they can see. Our little secret, right?”

“If I’m disqualified for a hickey, I’m the only person you’ll have to worry about committing homicide,” Regina followed up, serious despite the arousal in her glare. “I’m not saying treat me like a piece of damn china, I’m saying--Oh!”

Emma had decided to skip the rest of that conversation in favor of pulling those skimpy shorts down and running her fingers over the wetness between Regina’s thighs. Without any conscious plan, Emma let her thumb seek out the hard little bundle of nerves already seeking attention, strumming it as gently as a Spanish guitar at first, before circling with greater pressure as Regina raised her hips into the touch.

“You’re,” Regina gasped. “Still dressed.”

Emma looked down at her pants and found she had to agree. Removing them (and the ridiculous thong beneath) had the added benefit of letting her press this throbbing against the smooth surface of Regina’s thigh, and that was not even close to being a thought that Emma could resist.

“Too slow,” Regina proclaimed, as Emma stood on trembling legs and fiddled with the catch on the stupid goddamned pants that probably cost more than her monthly rent. Quick, purposeful fingers took over and a moment later the leather was peeling away from Emma’s thighs, far enough for her to wriggle the rest of the way and hope that the motion somehow looked more sexy than dorky. 

Apparently it did, because instead of pulling Emma’s scrap of underwear down in the conventional way, Regina pushed her back just a little and dropped to her knees in front of her.

“More fun this way,” Regina murmured against Emma’s thigh before trailing a new path of kisses down each of her hipbones in turn. Then the thong was heading south, grasped firmly between Regina’s teeth. The predatory look she gave almost knocked Emma flat on her ass but she managed to keep her cool, even if only just.

“Oh, fuck.” Emma blurted at the first flicker of Regina’s tongue against her clit. But Regina seemed intent on taking her team, if not outright teasing, moving on from that initial jolt of sensation to ghost kisses over that recently-waxed skin. Emma hadn’t ever seen the appeal of going full Brazilian before, but the extra sensitivity as Regina’s lips made contact had her reconsidering.

“I’m not supposed to do this,” Regina whispered quietly. “I know we’re supposed to be living in the new enlightened world, but do you honestly think they’d let me win if they knew I was gay?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Emma offered, hips tilting towards Regina’s mouth. “And how can anything that feels this good be wrong?”

“Well, well, well,” Regina replied. “Agent Swan finally has a point.”

“You keep calling me by my title in that sex voice and I’m not gonna last very long,” Emma warned through gritted teeth. “You’ve already seen--and tasted--exactly how hot you get me, Regina. Now c’mon. Stop teasing and do something about it.”

It was a move straight out of the interrogation playbook, on how to rile someone with an obvious competitive streak, and Emma silently congratulated herself on the tactic. Regina, in response, had Emma back on the bed before she had a chance to blink.

“You’re maddening,” Regina snapped, looming over Emma and straddling her thigh. “You know that, don’t you? 

Emma attempted to conjure a wiseass remark, but only hissed through her teeth as Regina--dripping wet--rocked her hips and started to grind against Emma’s leg. 

“I could get myself off like this,” Regina threatened, hands cupping perfect breasts and pinching her own nipples. Her head tilted back, she allowed a shuddering little gasp to escape. “Leave you to suffer, as turned on as you are.”

“Like hell,” Emma managed through gritted teeth. She pulled Regina back into a kiss and this time both their hands went wandering. The satisfaction of stroking softly against Regina’s clit was topped only by the feeling of her fingers dipping inside Emma, teasing around the very edge with light pressure and then pulling away for a second. That alone had Emma ready to combust, and she whined a little as their kisses became more open-mouthed and less precise.

It was easy from there. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t Emma’s most finessed encounter, not on the first round, but damn, she went off like a Fourth of July display without too much prompting. Regina, for her part, took a little longer. Mostly because Emma’s concentration and dexterity took a major hit from her body-trembling orgasm. She made sure to make up for the lull with the twist of two fingers thrusting inside Regina, her thumb against her clit as an insistent counterpoint.

They took their time about ending it. There seemed to be so much skin to stroke, just one more fluttering kiss, and then another. Emma closed her eyes and traced the contours of Regina’s face with a single fingertip. An attempt to memorize, maybe, or just an excuse to prolong the touching. When she opened her eyes again, Emma found Regina still propped on one elbow, studying her intently.

“Tell me,” Emma whispered, stroking Regina’s hair with shaky, almost clumsy fingers. “Tell me that was about us, and not about trying to make me keep your family secrets.”

Regina smiled softly, hair pleasingly mussed. One sheet was tangled loosely around their legs, the rest of the bedding knocked to the floor at some point. “You think I’m trying to fuck you into some kind of _omertà?_ Why, would it work?”

“Nope. I might be temporarily separated from my badge and gun, but I still swore an oath.” Emma felt like a jerk saying it, but she had only really had purpose in her life since joining the Bureau. She couldn’t throw that away over some girl, exceptional or not. 

“How the hell are you going to defend us without a gun?” Regina asked, distracting Emma all over again with a new sighting of her bare breasts. “Honestly. Are you sure there’s supposed to be a ‘special’ in front of your ‘agent’?”

“I was pretty special a minute ago,” Emma joked, hoping to make light of it. 

“Are you going to arrest her?” 

The demand was uncompromising. Regina pulled a sheet around her naked body, tiny drops of sweat still beaded on her forehead and along the dips of her clavicles. Her eyes were even wilder, darker and sharper, leaving Emma powerless to escape the gaze.

“I need proof, first,” Emma responded. “Which means I should probably get to work. I have a friend, Ruby. She stayed to help and--”

“Then go,” Regina interrupted, shaking her head until her hair fell over her face. She was kneeling on the mattress by then, still a vision in a crumpled white sheet. Emma kicked her legs off the bed and stood, just a little shaky from the exertion. 

“You know, Boston and Maine aren’t all that far apart...” Emma had sucked in a deep breath and the words came out in a hurry. “When all this is over, if you wanted to maybe do this again…”

“I can’t,” Regina whispered. “I shouldn’t have given into these stupid feelings this weekend as it is. Can you imagine what they’d do to a lesbian beauty queen? No, whatever happens, my mother won’t allow me to embarrass her like that.”

“What about being happy?”

“Happy is a relative term, Emma.”

“Unless your relatives are making you unhappy.”

“You’re lucky I slept with you before you started making puns,” Regina snapped, fighting back a smile. “Seriously, if you’re looking for a second date and a U-Haul… I have too much at stake. I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” Emma started grabbing at her clothes. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Forget about it, okay? I’ll, uh, let you know if I find anything.”

“Emma--” 

“It’s fine, okay?” Emma yanked her pants mostly back into position and pulled her top down for the short dash down the corridor. “I wasn’t proposing or anything.”

“Wait, I--”

“I’ll see you in the dressing room.”

Emma dashed out into the hall, pulling the door closed tight behind her. Luckily, everyone else had either observed curfew or blown right past it, and she was able to sneak along the hall undetected. She pulled out her keycard and prayed the unlocking wouldn’t wake her roommate. A few hours’ rest and she could get on with solving this case for real.

And Regina? Well. What happened in San Antonio could damn well stay in San Antonio, Emma decided. So long as she ignored that stupid fluttering feeling in her stomach.

***

Tamara flicked on the bedside lamp, revealing her to be sitting on Emma’s bed. There was no garish face mask this time, just a tall glass of water in her hand.

“Got Georgia on your mind, Emmylou? Nah, I think you got a bad case of Maine, though. I was the one who walked in on you in the bathroom earlier, not that either of you looked up all that fast.”

“Planning to use it against me?”

“Do I sound like I am? Nah, I have no intention of getting to the top of the pile by pulling other women out of it. Damn though, it was hot enough I almost turned for a minute.”

Emma blushed hard enough to fry a couple of eggs on her cheeks. “I don’t even know how it happened.”

“I’m pretty sure it happened because you look at each other like puddles of gasoline, when each one of you is holding a match. You think you’re the only two who’ve ever had a showmance? Happens more than you’d think, especially at this level.”

“That’s not what it is,” Emma assured Tamara. “But if you change your mind about eliminating the competition, you come after me, okay? Leave Regina out of it.”

“It’s a little embarrassing, how bad you got it. What are you, her knight in shining armor? Regina can more than take care of herself.”

“Maybe. And you know, you deserve to win anyway. You don’t need any leverage.”

“If I get a couple of modeling contracts out of it, I’m good. Just enough to pay for med school.”

“You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”

“I do. My mom and dad? They worked two jobs each to get all three of us through college, I won’t ask them to do more than they already have. So paying those last four years myself? That’s my ‘thank you’ to them.”

“Is _anyone_ doing this just to, you know, be crowned the hottest girl?”

“Oh, some of us are,” Tamara conceded. “Even me, a little part of me wants that. But I’m not hanging my future on a pretty face and long legs.”

“You could. Still, it’s cool of you. Not to cause trouble over the whole kiss thing.”

“Oh, please,” Tamara mocked, leaning in and kissing Emma suddenly on the cheek. Barely a glance of lips against skin, but Emma jumped like it had been a taser. “That was ‘just a kiss’. What you two were doing is definitely illegal in at least 20 states.”

“God,” Emma groaned, scrubbing her hands over her face. “If we’d had ten more minutes we could have made it to 48, easy.”

“And judging by the state of your clothes, you took another run at it since you disappeared earlier.”

“I’ll just go grab another quick shower,” Emma replied, a little shamefaced. “God, are we really getting up in 4 hours?”

“Less than,” Tamara reminded her. “Try and get some sleep when you’re done, hmm? No lying awake mooning over your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my...” Emma gave up mid-sentence, and trudged into the bathroom.

***

“Good morning!” Gold sounded like a demented leprechaun as he barged into Emma’s room. His accent, while always committed, never seemed to stay in the same region very long, and he was definitely swinging through Ireland this morning. Tamara had already dressed and gone, presumably to workout, since her swimwear and evening gowns were still hanging on the closet doors. “I hope that tush is high and tight, Emmylou. This bikini leaves no room for slouch.”

“Oh God,” Emma groaned, mashing the pillow into her face. “I swear, I just fell asleep five seconds ago.”

“It looks like it,” Gold snapped, ushering Aurora into the room with her giant bag of beauty supplies. “Now I’m working on my own dime so the team is a little reduced. Aurora here agreed to help, regardless of the Bureau’s funding situation.”

“You did?” Emma peered out from under her pillow. “That’s really cool of you. Thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do after ripping out all your hair,” Aurora said with a patient smile. “I’ll get the concealer ready,” she said, and it sounded kind even if it made Emma feel even more shitty. “I think it’s green smoothie time. I’ll call room service.”

“Green smoothie?” Emma balked. She had a feeling that wasn’t going to mean apple flavor.

“It’s kale, spinach--”

“Stop!” Emma yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth. “If you want me to drink it without gagging, don’t tell me anymore about what’s in it.”

“Hungover, are we?” Gold sneered, rifling through the clothes he’d placed in Emma’s room on the first day. “Not exactly responsible use of your time.”

Emma shut her mouth, crawling out of bed and stretching her sore muscles. At least she was already clean. She could be spared the indignity of Gold and Aurora insulting her through the shower curtain.

“It’s swimsuits then the second interview, right?” Emma confirmed. “Then talent again this afternoon and formalwear.”

“Well, at least you can retain an itinerary,” Gold agreed. “You know, it’s not too late for a spray tan. I don’t think pale and interesting works when you have eye circles like Ling Ling the panda.”

“Do we have time for that?”

“Luckily, yes. This morning’s pre-event breakfast is optional. And you’re in the last group for swimsuits, so count your lucky stars. Aurora, dear, give Belle a call would you? Nobody understands tanning like the Aussies.”

“You-your ex-wife Belle?” Aurora sputtered, the first sign she’d shown all weekend of being flappable. “Seriously?”

“Desperate times,” Gold informed her with a wry grin. “And with the alimony I’ve paid her, she’ll work for free. Ask her to bring the tent and the portable spray. Quick as she can.”

“You’re really going for it, aren’t you?” Emma asked quietly. “Despite everything, you’re still giving me half a chance.”

“Of course I am, Agent Swan,” Gold replied. “None of my girls has ever finished outside the Top 5. I’m not breaking that streak with you.”

“Thanks,” Emma told him, surprised by how much she meant it. “I’ll call my friend Ruby to come in and help. Might take some extra hands to fix everything that’s wrong with me.”

“You’re not that bad,” Gold sighed grudgingly. “But yes, a little assistance can’t hurt.”

Emma picked up her phone and pressed the speed dial for her friend. She managed not to smile at the almost-compliment Gold had given her as she did. 

***

“Turn!” The small, scary Australian yelled at her. Dressed in nothing but a strategic strip of tissue paper, Emma missed her cue again and felt most of the spray misting on her side and in the air around her.

“Oh for God’s sake,” she groaned. “Can’t you just go get a paintbrush and slap it right on my skin?”

“I just want you to know that I have five year-old clients who could do this in their sleep,” Belle replied, but her eyes were twinkling. “You stay in one place--arms up, Emmylou--and I’ll move the equipment, okay?”

“Thanks,” Emma forced herself to muster a smile. “Sorry I suck at this. But hey, it’s my last day here in hell.”

“Is my husband helping you with some kind of expose?” Belle asked, positioning her weird machine with all its nozzles. Emma closed her eyes, she could at least get out of this process without going blind. 

“Promise not to tell?” Emma pleaded. “It’s nothing to hurt the pageant. I just needed access to all areas. For the, uh, story.”

“Emma?” Ruby called out from the other side of the curtain. “I’m up to speed on everything you brought. Where are we hitting up first?”

“This is my… writing partner,” Emma explained to Belle, only to quickly shut her mouth as some spray tan actually landed on her front for the first time. “Ruby,” she added, when Belle circled round to zap her from the back.

“Let the fans do their thing,” Belle commanded. “Your friend can come in, if you don’t mind her seeing your nuggets.”

“Please god, tell me you did not just refer to my boobs as--”

“Hey,” Ruby announced, gleefully pushing into the bathroom and turning straight to Belle. “Were you really married to the guy out there? The one who’s slow-dancing with some kind of Audrey Hepburn dress in his arms?”

“Yup,” Belle confirmed. “And yes, he’s always been that way. It might seem camp to you, but he loves the ladies too.”

“Loves torturing them,” Emma grunted. “Can I put something more than a Kleenex on yet?”

“Two more minutes!” Belle barked.

“You’re strict!” Ruby cackled. “Just what Emma needs. Right, partner?”

“Rubes, stop encouraging these people to torment me. You want to scope out this breakfast I’m skipping? My pass and everything is right there, just borrow a blazer and don’t linger long enough for anyone to check you out properly, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll swing by the dressing room before your big bikini moment.”

“Yeah, because it’s not bad enough my ass is going to be on national television.”

“I’m kinda getting the full show now,” Ruby pointed out. “But you can bet that ass I’ve set my DVR, too.”

“Get me something, please?” Emma was more blatant than usual about her desperation. She wanted to discuss the whole Regina situation over a pint of Cherry Garcia, but the personal crap had to take a backseat yet again. “I am not going through all this to fuck it up at the end.”

“Aye, aye,” Ruby gave a teasing salute and slipped back out of the bathroom.

“Right,” Belle said, clapping her hands. “You can put the bikini on in five, I’ll go grab some hairspray.”

“My hair is already full of the stuff.”

“Not for your head.”

“Wait, what? I have to style… but Aurora waxed it all off!”

“No,” Belle sighed. “It stops the briefs from riding up. Unless you’d rather put even more skin on display? These skimpy ones will go all the way up your--”

“Get the spray!” Emma yelped. “Five minutes til clothes, right?”

“Right,” Belle confirmed. “The worst is almost over.”

***

“Em...mylou?” Ruby’s voice broke through the backstage chatter. “I’ve got your, uh, spare body glitter.”

“I’ll come out,” Emma said right away, pulling away from the mirror where her hair had been clipped up in a cascade of curls that didn’t actually look bad, in an impractical kind of way. She tightened the sash around her silk robe, resolute not to take it off until the last possible second. “Anything?”

“I thought I’d struck out,” Ruby confessed. “But I stayed behind and pretended to be arranging the flowers. That Cora woman had a guy waiting for her. They looked like they were up to something so I got as close as I could.”

“Sidney?” Emma asked, knowing Ruby had spent the night before poring over the casefiles. 

“Yeah, Sidney Glass. Anyway, I couldn’t exactly linger. But I did hear Cora ask if ‘the girl’ knew what to do later. Sidney said he’d briefed her, so I guess the inside angle wasn’t a total bust.”

“Well,” Emma said. “I’ve only ruled out three from the fifty. And I’m one of them.”

“You’re last up in swimsuits, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So stand in the wings and ask each girl before she walks on if she’s spoken to Sidney yet. He was looking for her, or whatever.”

“You think she’ll blurt it out?”

“She might, if she doesn’t know she’s not supposed to. And if there’s something to hide, she’ll be caught off-guard. Got a better idea?” Ruby demanded, every bit the take-charge agent she’d been before Peter’s death.

“You’re right,” Emma agreed. “Okay, they’re about to call the first five out. I’ll wait over there and grill them.”

“Wait,” Ruby commanded. She pulled Emma’s sash and a second later the robe was gone, leaving her in a black-and-white striped bikini and dangerously high patent black Manolos. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” She followed that up with a smack on Emma’s ass, sending her scurrying towards the relative safety of the side of the stage. 

“Okay,” Emma told herself, feeling all the more naked without a badge or gun to assert her authority. The first gaggle of girls came striding out of the changing room a moment later, so she got herself in position for a quick Q&A before Leo and Cora announced each entrant and the spotlights came calling.

Tamara was the first to line up, and Emma exhaled in relief. She forced a smile and leaned in to whisper to her roommate. “Hey. Some guy called Sidney been sniffing around you this weekend?”

Tamara shook her head, but didn’t look flustered by the question.

“Why?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just some creep, I’m gonna have him thrown out if he’s harassing the other girls.”

“Look at you, Norma Rae. Standing up for your fellow women in their workplace.”

“Yeah, I’m a real commie,” Emma snorted. “Go knock ‘em dead.”

“First up: New York!” Leo’s booming voice echoed from the stage and the speakers above them. “And joining her we have Arkansas, Hawaii, Colorado and New Mexico.”

Emma turned to the assembling line and sighed. Make or break time. “Hey, Arkansas,” she began, addressing the redhead. With avoiding Regina, she only had 46 to go. Fantastic.

She was grilling the fifth group when she caught a flash of movement on the lighting rig above. Signaling to Ruby was no use, she was scouting in the emptied dressing rooms, no doubt looking for explosives. Nobody liked to mention it, but Ruby’s sense of ‘just knowing’ seemed to rival the search dogs’ noses for catching a scent. 

Figuring it was better to catch Sidney in the act than wait to get caught in the crossfire, Emma kicked off her heels (heels. With a bikini. There were moments when she thought a bomb wouldn’t be the worst thing for any event that combined those two things.)

Shoes discarded, Emma ignored the gasps from the other girls and began scaling the iron ladder that would take her up into the gantry. She tried desperately not to look down as she stepped onto the narrow and surprisingly flimsy walkway. One foot in front of the other, she made her way across. The lights adjusting made her jump with fright, but she kept her cool and made it to the other side. 

No sign of Sidney. Or anyone. Surely someone working the rig wouldn’t have just disappeared. Between that and her spidey sense, Emma knew she was on the brink of a breakthrough. 

Or she would have been, if the goddamned metal bridge she was standing on hadn’t suddenly begun to move, and move away entirely from the ladder she was planning to go back down. To make matters worse, in the time it had taken to climb up and scout around for foul play, the groups had steadily been making their way on stage.

“And now, to complete our lineup,” Emma’s stomach plummeted as she hear Leo’s grating voice boom out into the audience. “We have North Dakota, Alaska, Kansas, Delaware and Massachusetts!”

Emma looked down. The fall had to be easily twenty feet. No way she could drop and roll, not with all those bodies already milling around the stage. Out of options, she looked around in desperation. 

And that was the moment she saw the rope, just an arm’s length away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.
> 
> It is over, and it is done.

For a moment, one sweet shining moment, it was the best idea ever. 

Emma could finally understand the appeal of flying, why humans had been obsessed with it for long enough to find a way to propel themselves through the air in metal tubes at 500mph. 

Well, at least until she let go of the rope.

***

“Well,” Leo announced over the shocked gasps. “It would seem this young lady really wanted to make her entrance from the North East, huh?”

“Yes,” Cora purred back at him, turning just enough to shoot Emma the single most malicious glare she’d ever witnessed. “It was definitely making an entrance, Leo. I don’t think any of us will forget Miss Massachusetts in a hurry.”

“Ow?” Emma groaned from where she’d landed directly behind Regina and Mary Margaret. The smooth surface of the stage had not been pleasant against her legs, and for a moment she didn’t think she could move. Mercifully, two sets of determined hands helped her up, only for the assembled audience to erupt in applause. 

“Emmylou,” Mary Margaret murmured out of one corner of her mouth, her beaming smile never faltering. “You could have killed yourself!”

“I just wanted to try something different,” Emma lied, not daring to look at Regina, who was practically vibrating with the need to say something. No doubt to tell Emma what a complete idiot she was, and that any broken limbs would have been all her fault.

“Right, ladies. I think our judges have had quite an eyeful. You’re all lovely examples of athletic grace, and we thank you for it. And to any of you who want to try their suits out in a real pool sometime… well, it just so happens there’s one at my house.”

Polite laughter from the audience greeted the cheesy remark. Emma rolled her eyes the minute the roving camera had swept past her. The director called a cut, this footage forming the start of the evening broadcast before the live final vote. It was almost surprising to Emma, how much of the detail she’d absorbed. Usually she couldn’t get a train out of South Station without forgetting the time or the platform number half a dozen times.

She was relieved to beat a retreat offstage, but a hand gripping her elbow stopped her. Expecting Regina, she was less than thrilled to see that Cora was the one to get hold of her.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I will throw you out of this town so fast that your head will spin.”

“It’s already spinning, from the tumble I just took. But tell me, Ms Mills--”

“Do not use that name for me, not in public.” Cora’s warning was wild-eyed, and Emma couldn’t help but be aware of her own lack of authority in the situation, not to mention her lack of a firearm.

“Tell me why it is you really don’t want the FBI snooping around. What plan would we be disrupting?”

“It has nothing to do with that. I am merely trying to avoid mortification in front of a national audience. As your latest stunt proves, you are likely to be the cause of any such mortification.”

“I’ll keep it together for the talent bit. Just let me keep an eye on your girls.”

“See that you do, agent.” Cora paused, waving at someone backstage and plastering a fake smile back on her face. “I assume you still need to make the final five?”

“Only way to keep the girls safe on stage,” Emma reminded her. “Unless you can think of any other risks I need to be aware of?” Her questions were weak, and getting the upper hand over Cora as a suspect was not made any easier by standing around wearing two tiny bits of clothing. 

“Fine,” Cora replied absentmindedly. “You’ll make it to the last round, but only if you avoid the acrobatics.”

“Deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Emma wrested her arm free of Cora’s pincer-like grip. The woman had claws on her to rival Sebastian the crab. “I have an investigation to run.”

***

“Nice somersault, Swan,” Jones announced as she opened her room door. It succeeded in making Emma jump about three feet in the air.

“What are you doing here? Did the surgeons manage to detach your lips from Lucas’s ass?”

“Thanks for that mental image,” Ruby groaned from the other corner of the room. Emma hadn’t noticed her presence until that point. “But seems Mr. Hero here wants to save the day after all.”

“Bite me,” Emma told him. “If you had anything real, there’d be a whole team in here. You’re hedging your bets, in case you get a chance to steal the glory.”

“Nothing wrong with covering my bases.” Jones had the decency not to deny it. “I may have conjured a little excuse to fly back this morning, even if I could only convince Nolan to come with me.”

“Hey,” David said, emerging from the ensuite and rubbing his hands together. “That hand lotion in there is insane. Feel my hands, Emma. They’re like butter.”

“No thanks,” Emma ducked his incoming palms and mentally scanned her outfit options for the middle part of the day. She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at the evening dresses just yet. “So, are you jokers actually going to help me then?”

“Hey Ruby,” David interrupted. “Are you really back in the field? Because that’s really great.”

“Not officially,” Ruby answered. “I’m only here to have Em’s back.”

“And that back had better get out of that robe and into your talent outfit as soon as possible,” Gold chimed in from the doorway. “Go with the pinstripes, Agent Swan. Best to look as businesslike as possible.”

“What did you just call her?” Tamara’s voice came from the hallway, and Emma cringed. So much for smooth undercover.

“C’mere,” Emma demanded, taking control of the situation, and pushing Gold out of the way to bring Tamara into the fold. “Look, this probably isn’t the biggest shock of your life, but I’m not actually a beauty queen…”

Tamara gave her a look so withering that Emma almost burst out laughing.

“Like I said, not the biggest shock,” Emma repeated, fussing with the hem of her robe. “But there’s been a threat against the pageant, a bomb threat, and we’re investigating that.”

“Is it legit?” Tamara asked.

“As far as we know. We just don’t have a concrete suspect. So everything is under suspicion until we do. We’re paying special attention to one guy--”

“Sidney? But he works for Cora.”

“You’ve met her. How long do you think you could work for her without wanting to blow up something pretty substantial?” 

Tamara smiled at that. “So what’s your real name, Emmylou Freebush?”

“It’s Emma Swan, but please, I’m gonna have to beg you not to blow my cover now. We’re really close to finding a way to keep everyone safe.”

“I can take it from here,” Jones interrupted, offering a hand for Tamara to shake. She declined, shaking her head at him. 

“Emmylou it is. What can I do to help?”

“Oh, we couldn’t ask you to,” Emma declined politely. “It’s really an issue to get civilians involved in these things.”

“I’m involved,” Ruby reminded her. “And the clock is ticking, maybe literally on a bomb somewhere. I think we should take all the help we can get.”

“You’re on just after me in the talent, right?” Emma asked Tamara.

“Yup. Well, there’s like one person between us, but yeah. You need me to cause a diversion?”

“Not exactly,” Emma said. “Okay, can everyone who hasn’t already seen me naked get the hell out? I need to change.”

David duly made his way to the door, but Jones hung back, a hopeful leer on his face.

“Killian, don’t make me throw you out,” Emma warned. “I’ll fill you in on the plan when I finish making it. If you want to hit up the store and bring me some candy back, I won’t exactly complain.”

“We’re not your errand boys,” Jones protested, but Emma just closed the door behind him when he finally left.

“Right,” Emma said, unclipping her hair and rubbing gently once more at the friction burn on her leg. Her hands weren’t exactly thrilled about the rope burn either, but she’d risk lotion on that once the dressing had been taken care of. “Gold, am I crazy to stick around? Can’t I just steal a backstage pass and lurk without competing?”

“Cora will have you whisked out the second your name is withdrawn,” Gold replied, shrugging his shoulders. “And I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t want to end up that far away from her.”

“If there’s anything else you should be telling me--”

“No. No, not that I can think of. I assume that if you’re looking at Sidney--or his boss--that you know you need to get into Cora’s office suite. Perhaps Tamara here can help you with that.”

“Maybe she can,” Emma agreed. “Okay, fine. Let’s get our asses ready and we’ll take it from there.”

***

“Wait!” Emma yelped as they approached the holding area for the talent contestants. “Yesterday I had Neal, who the hell do I call on today?”

“I can’t be expected to remember everything!” Gold snapped. “Oh for God’s sakes, wait here. I’ll get someone in the second row for you, okay? I’ll… uh… put my pocket square somewhere visible on them, okay?”

“Do not screw this up, Gold.” 

“Again: not my fault you have no actual talents.”

Emma went back to pacing, which at least felt a little more natural in clothes that actually covered some of her skin. The heels she could live without, but there was no denying that they made her legs, and her ass, look a hell of a lot better. Just as she completed a lap of the roped-off area, Regina appeared beside her.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Regina replied. “Listen, about last night--”

“It’s not why I threw myself from the ceiling, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I saw Cora pull you aside. She wasn’t… you know…”

“Oh for… no, Regina. She wasn’t asking me anything about that. She was trying to throw me out of the pageant, which just bumped her even higher on my suspect list.”

“Should you be talking to her?” Tamara asked, taking Emma’s arm. “You know, with everything.”

“Tamara knows why I’m here,” Emma explained. “She’s going to help me out. I need access to Cora’s offices, and--”

“You can’t pick the lock, if that’s what you’re planning.”

“Wait, what? Of course I can. I’ve been picking locks since--”

“The offices have state-of-the-art security. Fingerprint access only.”

“Shit!” Emma kicked out at one of the metal stands holding the ropes up. “If I don’t get something, it’s going to be too late, and we’re risking god knows how many lives. Maybe I should call in my own threat, with a codeword. They’d have to evacuate then.”

“And you’d be caught and prosecuted,” Tamara pointed out. “Not to mention pretty much unemployable if you ever did get out of federal prison.”

“Regina, can you help me out?”

Regina considered for a moment, at least. She gave Emma that much goddamned courtesy, before suddenly getting interested in her manicure.

“I can’t,” Regina murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. “I’ll do anything else I can to help, but I can’t directly go against her like that. She’s my… boss. There would be consequences for me, too. Especially if this is just some wild goose chase.”

“Then thanks for nothing,” Emma turned on her heel, marching back across to the wings of the stage. Tamara followed, maintaining a careful distance. 

“She’s just trying to protect herself,” Tamara offered. “Regina’s worked for Cora a long time. It’s not easy for her to go against someone once she trusts them. Why do you think she and Kathryn can stay friends even though all they do is make bitchy jokes at each other?”

“I thought she trusted me.”

“Oh, I get it. After what, two days? This isn’t righteous anger, you’re butthurt because she doesn’t think you’re the great savior, and she certainly isn’t going to put out again because of it. You always let flings get in the way of your job like this?”

“Hey!” Emma felt more than a little burned by Tamara’s accusations. “This isn’t about that. I’m trying to keep everyone here alive, and she won’t even unlock a door. You have to see how that’s annoying?”

“So arrest her. Or get a subpoena, I don’t know what you can do, but sulking probably isn’t an option.”

“Thanks for the career advice,” Emma snarked, instantly regretting it. 

“You know what, hotshot? Go save the day. I’ll be out there working the stage if you decide you still need a favor, okay?”

“Tamara, wait, I’m sorry!”

But Tamara kept on walking, skirting the backdrops and crossing to the opposite wing. Emma wanted to punch a wall in frustration, but her turn was rapidly approaching. She just had to step out in front of that very real, very live audience again and get this stupid talent section recorded. Then she had at least a couple of hours to work before the live event. 

It would have to be enough.

***

The lights were just as dazzling this time around, but Emma remembered Gold’s training and refrained from shielding her eyes as she strode out to greet Leo and shake his hand at downstage left. 

Questions were fired at her and Emma rattled off rote responses, grinning out into the faceless audience every time she paused for breath. She had to look like a maniac, smiling so hard and so falsely, but there hadn’t exactly been time to hit on a better strategy.

“I understand,” Leo smarmed at her. “That you’ll require an assistant for this portion of the contest. May I volunteer?”

He rubbed his beard suggestively and Emma prayed for a moment that the ground would open and swallow her. Didn’t stages have trapdoors anymore? Instead she had to listen to vaguely uncomfortable laughter from the strangers gathered in the peanut gallery.

“I think it works better if I pick someone at random, from the audience,” Emma replied evenly. “In fact, let me go look for a candidate right now.”

She took the few steps down into the orchestra seating and strolled casually along the front row. The appreciative stares and more than a few wolf whistles irritated her beyond belief, and yet a little part of Emma couldn’t help but revel in it. Nothing could make up for the years of being teased and bullied as a foster kid, and life in the Bureau hadn’t been a cakewalk no matter how many equality laws got passed. But just for a moment, it was nice to feel like the ‘real girl’ that Jones and his cronies teased her about never being. 

For a moment, Emma thought that mentioning Jones, even inside her own head, had conjured him up somehow. There he sat in the center of his row, Gold’s pocket square hanging from his shirt pocket like a badge of honor. He smirked at Emma, and for a moment she thought about risking her chance on a total stranger. A quick glance back at the stage, where Cora stood watching from stage right, made Emma’s mind up for her pretty quickly.

“You, sir,” Emma said, barely gritting her teeth at all. She beckoned her finger in what she hoped looked like a ‘come hither’ gesture, not easy when she’d much rather flip him the bird. Jones milked his moment, pointing to himself in disbelief but rising quickly from the chair so nobody else could take advantage of his fake hesitation.

He jogged up on stage in front of her, and it took all of Emma’s self-control not to trip him. So much for making him look like any old audience member. When he waved to the audience like they were all there to see him, Emma had a brainwave. A beautiful, life-affirming brainwave, if only she could pull off the new plan in these killer heels. She took one more look at his shit-eating grin and decided that yes, she would manage her new talent with Jones’s help, or break her neck trying.

“Now,” Emma announced, trying to remember where she needed to stand for the stage microphones to pick her up clearly. She saw the tape on the floor and moved into position, dragging Jones right along with her. “I was going to show you an impressive trick about detecting lies. But today I’ve just had something else, something so important that’s on my mind: the safety of young ladies.”

There was a slightly-interested ripple of noise from the audience, and if Emma wasn’t mistaken, an actual gasp from somewhere offstage. She’d definitely caught everyone’s attention, which meant the prickling on the back of her neck had to be Cora staring daggers at her. 

“So I’m going to show you, as my special talent, an easy and quick way for anyone to defend themselves when attacked by an assailant.” 

“That’s not what I signed up for!” Jones squeaked. The audience hooted in sudden laughter, thinking it was all part of the act. “I don’t even like Massachusetts! I’m from New York!”

“Well, that just makes it all the sweeter,” Emma answered, bracing herself and facing the audience. “Now, ladies. Pay attention. Gentlemen too, if you’ve never been taught how to fight beyond throwing a weakass punch in a bar.”

“Listen--” Jones started to protest, but Emma kept talking right over him.

“The word you need to remember is ‘SING’.” Explaining was the boring part, Emma knew, but she couldn’t skip ahead too far. For this to look in any way official, she had to do the whole ‘talk like the audience are third graders’ thing. “Now, sir, you’re standing behind me, that’s great. Now I need you to grab me like you’re a mugger.”

“No.”

Emma turned to glare at her colleague.

“I know I’m not carrying a purse, but just pretend like I am. You think you can scare me, grab my purse, and run? Go right ahead.”

Jones fussed with the collar of his shirt, trying to look cool, but still shaking his head. A pointed cough came from the backstage area, and Emma felt a single bead of sweat run down the back of her head, from crown to nape in an uneasy split-second. 

“Do it!” She hissed through gritted teeth, before beaming out at the audience again, glad the high-powered stage lights made all those faces into shadowy outlines. 

With almost audible reluctance in every step, Jones took the necessary steps forward. No sooner had he grabbed Emma’s arm than she grabbed right back and flipped him effortlessly over her shoulder. The heavy ‘whump’ of his back connecting with the stage was the most satisfying thing she’d heard in months.

“Okay, my bad,” Emma said, grinning for real this time. “I got a bit excited and I started showing off. Moves like that take lots of training.” She nudged Jones with the toe of her killer patent heel. “Sir, if you can tear yourself away from the floor, I’ll go through the beginner’s self defence.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, but to his credit Jones was back on his feet a moment later.

“Now,” Emma continued, warming up to the task at hand. “If someone’s grabbing your purse, your arm is already in play. Your elbow is one of the best weapons you have, that’s a nice solid bone there and it packs a real punch. Remember how I told you to remember the word ‘sing’?”

The audience murmured in recognition. Emma had their attention for real, she could taste it. 

“Well the ‘s’ stands for…” She cleared her throat, and with a sigh, Jones approached her again, his grip pinching her bicep this time. “Solar plexus,” Emma finished, drowning out the pained gasp from Jones as he sank to his knees, clutching his allegedly rock-solid abs. Maybe Killian had been skipping his gym sessions if he felt the blow that much.

“When we get back to Boston, I’m gonna have you scrubbing toilets for a month,” he threatened when he got his breath back.

“That’s just one of the four most sensitive and easily-accessible areas to tackle an assailant.” Emma ignored him, basking in the applause as she offered a hand and helped him to his feet one more time. “Now, all this falling down takes its toll, so I’m going to show you the remaining three letters all in one shot. Pay attention now. This is important.”

Someone in the orchestra pit had the presence of mind to rustle up a drumroll. Emma nodded in acknowledgment. 

Closing her eyes for a moment, she thought of every cheap joke, every leer, and every chance of success or promotion that Jones had stolen from her. 

_”Instep,”_ she called out, stomping her foot down with the point of the heel landing right in the sweet spot. A burst of applause followed the collective intake of breath.

She thought about the way Neal followed her around like a puppy no matter how clear she made it that she didn’t want to resume their uninspiring fling. 

_”Nose,”_ she continued, squeezing her left hand into a fist and snapping it up over her shoulder. The contact was as sweet as any crack of wood hitting horsehide at Fenway, and Emma savored it.

And finally, she thought about Regina, her rejection, and the annoying but unavoidable fact that being rejected this time actually hurt.

 _”Groin,”_ Emma announced, barely suppressing her laugh of sheer glee. She shifted her feet and center of balance, allowing her to spin on one heel and lift her knee to Jones’s crotch in one fluid motion. Take that, Miss Idaho and your ballet spins. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Massachusetts!” Leo bellowed into his microphone. “That little display certainly put the ‘ow’ in ‘chowder’!”

“No hard feelings,” Emma murmured as she helped Jones to his feet. “I’d have done the same for you, man.”

“Ice,” Jones grunted. “Get me some ice.”

Emma led him offstage to a riot of applause and whooping. When she made it into the wings, Cora had apparently disappeared. 

“I’ll hand you off to Ruby,” Emma offered, waving her friend to come over. “I’ve got some snooping to do.”

***

Emma dashed through as many service corridors and back stairwells as she could find in making her way towards Cora’s office on the non-hotel part of the complex. The suite of rooms formed the only permanent part of the Miss United States juggernaut, with the convention center being open to other events the remaining 51 weeks of the year, and all preliminaries handled at state level. 

Avoiding the wall of windows, Emma cut across the lawn and used the few shrubs in evidence as cover. Lights were on in Cora’s office, which didn’t bode well. Emma would have to find a hiding place and hope Cora left for the live event before Emma herself had to do the same. 

She made it down the hallway to the reception desk Regina usually manned without incident. Sure enough, light shone out from under Cora’s door, and unless Emma was mistaken, voices were raised in conversation in there. Considering her options -- without a visual she couldn’t risk getting up close to the door -- Emma opted to hide on the opposite side of the filing cabinet, pressed up against the wall that separated the office from the outer office.

“You should be getting ready,” Emma overheard Cora, as impatient as ever. “It’ll take a good half hour to cover that damn scar properly.”

“I just wanted to see if you needed anything, Mother,” Regina’s voice was meek again, barely audible unless Emma pressed her ear against the ugly wallpaper. “Tonight is such an important night for all of us, and I don’t see Sidney in here helping you.”

“Sidney has other things to attend to,” Cora snapped. “Did you see the display our FBI friend put on? I’m strongly considering disqualification. I think George can finally repay the favor he owes me by convincing the other judges…”

“What favor does he owe you?” Regina pressed too hard and Emma sucked on her teeth at the rookie mistake.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to… I was only going to ask if you needed me to deliver the message.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m the one who let George have whichever girls he picked, and I’ll be the one to collect on that.”

“What if he’d wanted me?” 

Emma couldn’t blame Regina for asking, but the silence became more deadly as it stretched out.

“Well, darling,” Cora finally responded. “I think you would have nodded, and done exactly as you were told. That’s what good girls do, after all.”

If Regina responded, it was barely audible. Emma felt acid in the back of her throat, actual revulsion at the thought of a woman willing to pimp out her own daughter if necessary. Even the worst of Emma’s foster parents, the drug-addicted, system-scamming con artists, had never tried to trade her as some kind of sexual favor. 

“Won’t they be waiting for instructions, Mother?” Regina asked a moment later. “I can call down and tell them to wait for you. But soundcheck is--”

“I’m going,” Cora dismissed her. “Be a dear and lock up the office again when you leave.”

“Yes, Mother.”

A moment later Cora swept through the outer office in a poisonous cloud of expensive perfume. Emma wanted to gag all over again, but she crept through the open office door before Regina could come out and lock it. 

“Hey,” Emma announced, surprised to see Regina already rifling through the in-tray on Cora’s desk. “Is this your way of saying you’ll help after all?”

“Close the door. And make yourself useful. Start with the filing cabinet.”

Emma did as instructed, smirking at Regina despite the risk they were taking together.

“I need something to convince the others once and for all,” Emma reminded Regina after a moment of quietly ruffling through paper. “A receipt for something suspicious, a note to Sidney, whatever.”

“Can you pick locks?” Regina asked. “Because in this whole office there’s only one place I’ve never seen the inside of, and it’s this drawer.”

“Can I pick locks?” Emma snorted. “Honey, I’ve been picking locks a lot longer than I’ve been arresting people for doing it.”

Regina flinched at the easy way that ‘honey’ fell from Emma’s mouth, and it left Emma wanting to kick herself for the accidental flirtation. Something in Regina just drew it out of her, no matter how much she wanted to play things cool.

“If I do this,” Regina warned, hand lingering on the locked drawer. “You have to promise she won’t be able to drag me down with her.”

“You think she’ll try to make you her patsy?” Emma was shocked that any person would expect that of the woman who gave birth to them, but then she’d seen enough examples of crappy parenting to know that being made to take the fall wasn’t unheard of. She nudged Regina aside with her hip, grabbing the letter opener and plucking a hairpin from her head. Gold had finally made all his torture worth her trouble.

“We haven’t proven anything yet,” Regina reminded her. A few fumbles later, Emma had figured out the mechanism. She stood back, watching Regina take a deep breath before pulling the drawer out. It didn’t escape Emma’s notice that Regina’s fingers trembled as she rifled through the mess of papers and stationery that made an unusual mess in such an otherwise spotless space; even the anal retentives had to have one weak spot.

“Huh.” Regina pulled a sheet of folded paper from the mess, and then another. She scanned the contents of each before groaning and handing them off to Emma. “These might not actually help.”

Emma grabbed at them gratefully, a woman whose lifeboat was slowly letting the air out with each passing minute. 

“These threats are from… okay, I don’t speak Arabic but this is the hokiest fake terrorist threat I’ve ever seen and…PETA? Come on, nobody out there is wearing fur.”

“Like I said, they might not help.”

“It’s something. The fact that these weren’t reported… looks like they’re a handy excuse to wheel out after the fact.”

“Or a bunch of cranks we’ve never reported. Meaning there is no serious outside threat. Or we’re complicit in a bombing because my mother insisted that the show should go on.”

“Let’s tear the rest of this place apart, okay?” Emma pleaded. “With even one bit of real evidence we can shut the whole thing down, no harm done. You with me?”

“We don’t have long…”

“And the fact that I’m focusing on that instead of taking one more chance on getting laid by you, that should tell you how important this is to me. Because if I’m going to be blown to pieces tonight, I don’t want it to be when I’ve only been with you once.”

Emma blushed furiously at her own little outburst. She stared at the carpet, wishing she could rewind time by thirty seconds or so.

“I…” Regina faltered. “I’m searching this side of the room. Because if I come over there, you’ll get your wish, Agent Swan.”

“So search,” Emma agreed. “And let’s get the hell out of here.” 

***

“You got nothing but these cut up letters?” Ruby sighed. “That wouldn’t convince anyone. This place is gonna blow, because we’ve got nothing?”

“If there’s even a bomb,” Jones snarked, leaning against the door of the supply closet that had been taken over as a ramshackle HQ. “Did it ever cross your mind that this is all for publicity, Swan? I know you want to beat me and take what you think is your rightful place at the head of the division, but this is officially out of hand.”

“Regina believes it as much as I do,” Emma replied. “And she knows these people better than any of us. Can you just divide up backstage and search? Anything that looks out of place, bags or boxes where they shouldn’t be, you know the drill.”

“What about Sidney?” Regina interjected. “If my mother is planning anything, he’ll be doing the legwork. Cora never gets her hands dirty if she can avoid it.”

“Cora’s your mom?” Jones was the one to explode first. “Are you shitting me?”

“Guess we know who’s picking up the crown tonight,” Ruby muttered. “I knew these things had to be rigged.”

“No one knows,” Regina protested. “We’ve always kept it secret. Rumor has it my mother used underhand methods to win the title for herself, but I promise you she’s never done the same for me.”

“That has to sting.” Ruby had actually made it sound sympathetic, and Emma had never been more glad to have her best friend by her side. “But I always thought that thing about her giving the girl food poisoning was--”

“Completely true,” Regina finished. “If the girl had eaten more than the tiniest amount, she would probably have died.”

Jones whistled at that. “Is there any one of those girls out there that your mommy might specifically target? Assuming she’s guilty of anything other than inhaling a few too many hairspray fumes?”

“How dare you?” Regina lunged for him, but Emma stepped between them. 

“Hey, defend your mom as and when we know she’s not committing any felonies, huh? Until then, he might be an ass, but Jones is making a fair point. Is there anyone your mom would want to take out more than the others? You said everyone knows each other from years back.”

It was hard to bodily restrain Regina without realizing just how good she still felt in Emma’s arms. When the tension finally sapped from Regina, Emma took a good long moment to even considering letting go.

“She really doesn’t hate these girls, you know?” Regina was quieter then, and infinitely less deadly. Emma watched for any hint of lies, or even the slightest cover-up; she wasn’t sure she would actually rat Regina out if it came to it, but Emma watched all the same. “Honestly, Mother still thinks of herself as one of them.”

“Still--”

“There is one,” Regina admitted after a considerable pause. “But it supposes that my mother cares about me enough to take notice and… well, we’ve just spent five minutes discussing how she doesn’t.”

“Then it’s a grudge you’re involved in,” Emma continued for her, thinking on her feet. “And the only person you’ve shown animosity towards is Mary Margaret from Rhode Island. Gold talked like you had a beef with her, too.”

“It was nothing,” Regina insisted, but the disbelieving looks from every angle made her give in. She sat on the room’s one broken swivel chair and lowered her head into her hands. “On the junior circuit--and I mean, years ago--I missed a rehearsal because I sneaked out to meet my boyfriend. I made up some lie about cramps, I think.” Emma bristled at that, but nodded for Regina to continue. “And Mary Margaret, claiming she was trying to _help_ me, went blabbing to my mother about where I had really gone. I never saw Daniel again after that day. I tried calling, I even went to stand outside his house, but it was like he just vanished. Since then, things have been difficult between my mother and I. I know it wasn’t a coincidence, after she ordered me to stop seeing him.”

“Right, but--” Ruby interrupted, but Regina waved her off and carried on.

“When Snow told my mother, she didn’t think to check if anyone could overhear. There was a judge who did hear, and that cost me first place. I was a lock that year, and it was my last time being eligible for juniors. You can guess who took the crown in my place.”

“Is that reason enough?” Jones actually asked Emma’s opinion for once, nodding at Nolan as he came back in from his latest errand. 

“If the rest are just numbers to her, maybe,” Emma replied. “Cora seems the type to invest in her dynasty. Which might mean you are pegged for top spot tonight, Regina.”

Regina shook her head. “This contest is different. You don’t understand how she feels about it. I used to think being Queen through me would satisfy her, but I learned a long time ago that only holding the title herself was ever enough. I have never been enough.”

“Did you find Sidney?” Jones asked David. “Only... time is getting tight.”

“I spoke to the backstage crew, they’ll call me when they see him,” David told him, before turning to Emma and Regina. “You two should be getting ready. If Gold doesn’t show up, I can fix your hair for you.”

“Yeah, what is that about?” Emma couldn’t resist teasing. “Don’t get me wrong, I know how much you love a bit of mousse in your hair, Mr Fussy. But are you really going to bust out some French twists?”

“You’d be surprised,” was David’s only response. “You get back to your dressing room, Killian and I will take up another patrol.”

“What about me?” Ruby insisted. “Do not think you’re leaving me in the broom closet. I stayed to help, Jones, so don’t try to weasel me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jones blustered, and it was obvious that had been his plan. “We’ll make you Cora’s bodywoman for the night. Steal some brushes or something and hang around the girls so you look legit. The minute Cora slips off or tips her hand in some way, you call.”

“Speaking of which, we can’t do this efficiently on cell phones,” David added, fishing around in his duffel bag. “I grabbed a radio set before I got back on the plane this morning. Including a wire for you, Swan. Does uh, she need one?”

“The name is Regina,” the lady herself corrected, holding out her hand like she was bored of accepting daiquiris from a waiter. “And yes, I’ll take one of those wires, please.”

“Okay,” Emma clapped her hands once, like she believed they were actually on track. “Sharp eyes, everyone. Keep your radios on, and the first hint of an explosive we get the people out, or we get the bomb out, understood?”

“We’re on it,” Nolan assured her. “Now go knock ‘em dead, Swan. Make me proud and get in that Top 5.”

Emma rolled her eyes, leading Regina out into the quiet service corridor. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. One extra coat of mascara should do it.”

“He’s not so delusional,” Regina murmured once they were alone. “You should know that. Gold’s handiwork or not. You’re incredibly beautiful.”

“I--”

“Just don’t let that distract you from saving everyone,” Regina continued. “That is your job, after all.”

Emma groaned, and followed Regina back towards the communal dressing area. The first round of eliminations would be upon them all too soon.

***

In her tight red cocktail dress and telescopic black heels, even Emma had to admit she felt pretty damn hot. Well, up until the first stumble that risked breaking her neck, but there was no keeping the gentle swagger from her hips as she took her position in line, a harried assistant with a giant headset and constantly flapping clipboard barking at each girl in turn. 

Cora stood right on the edge of the stage, watching the evening audience take their seats with Leo. They held some quiet conversation as they looked out into the conference center, and for a worrying minute Emma considered the male accomplice might be creepy, drunk Leo. But then Cora turned away from him, her face the picture of revulsion, and Emma knew that he wasn’t allowed into the inner circle.

“Hey,” Emma said to the girl in front of her, a redhead from Oregon. “How you feeling?”

“It’s weird,” the girl replied. “This skirt is so tight I can’t part my legs properly to walk. You think the shuffling will hurt my votes?”

“Nah,” Emma assured her. “They’ll think you’re just being a demure lady who keeps her knees tight together.”

The redhead snorted. “That should do fine. Unless they ask anyone from my old high school.” 

Both she and Emma cracked up at that, drawing a warning glare from the assistants and from Cora up at the head of the line. Regardless, it had broken the considerable tension in Emma’s muscles, and she felt like she could do something with her laser focus instead of jumping at every shadow.

“Good luck, Swan,” came Jones’ voice in her ear. “You too, Mills,” he added, off Regina’s pointed cough. She was a few places further ahead and definitely not looking back to see Emma. Just as well, since once glimpse of Regina’s black-and-cream striped dress had sent Emma reeling.

“Let’s do this,” she muttered, as the stage lights came up and Leo stepped out to greet the much louder audience, Cora following a few moments later. One way or another, they were going to find out if Emma’s gut instinct had been right all along.

***

The initial bout of lining up and waving actually didn’t feel so bad after the ordeals of the previous days. Emma stood between Oregon and Pennsylvania without swinging from any stage equipment, and that alone felt like a victory.

None of which explained the cold trickle of dread down her spine as Leo announced that they would be naming the 15 women to make it to the semi-final, and from there the final 5 would be chosen. Some sneaky lizard part of Emma’s brain had actually started to care, which probably wasn’t so weird considering she’d been entered into a competition that basically told the winner she was better than all other women. That Emma Swan, once of bitten-nails and ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes that mostly came from pudgy boys, even got to stand there among these goddesses was somehow becoming a feeling she wanted to hold on to. 

On hearing Arizona called, Emma took a step forward on auto-pilot. It was where she’d grown up, and somewhere in the exhaustion and focus on bombing plots, she’d reacted without meaning to. The audience tittered politely and Leo made a stupid comment about enthusiasm. Emma knew she was screwed now if her actual state wasn’t called.

“And the last three beautiful, talented ladies to make it through are…” Leo drew the moment out, forcing a really long drumroll that had to be pissing the conductor off. “Miss Rhode Island! Miss Maine! And, even though she made a much calmer entrance this time than the clips you saw earlier, Miss Massachusetts!”

For a moment, Emma could hear nothing but the roaring of her blood inside her head. Then it faded out to the riotous applause from a couple of thousand people, and she stepped forward to take her spot on the tape that had ‘15’ written on it. Rigged or not, she couldn’t stop smiling. When she looked towards Regina, even she spared a smile for Emma getting through along with her. Between them, Mary Margaret was smiling like her life depended on it. The pearly white glare had Emma wishing for her aviators.

“Join us in a few minutes,” Leo boomed, once the crowd had calmed. “We’ll be doing a final interview with each of these lovely representatives. And we’ll get that evening wear round that we’ve all been looking forward to. Right back after these messages.”

The lights went down and Emma scurried back to the wings with relief. She looked around for any sign of her improvised team, but only Regina remained in her sightline.

“Report.” Emma smiled at the girls streaming past her, scanning the rigging above for any sign of Sidney. Cora was having her makeup fixed by an assistant, so that kept her neutralized for the moment. “Guys, come on. Gimme something.”

“Sorry,” David’s voice crackled into life. “We were, uh… we were looking. For the device.”

“Why are you so out of breath?” Emma turned her back on most of the milling people. “Get it together, could you please?”

“I’ve got a ten on Sidney,” Ruby interrupted. “Someone come meet me at the exit that comes out past the kitchens.”

“On it,” Jones and Nolan chorused. Emma stomped her foot in frustration, knowing she had to be back onstage in less than a minute. Regina looked over, raising one eyebrow in question. Emma shrugged and held up crossed fingers. Just this once, she’d have to let someone else take the lead. At least until she got done talking about world peace.

***

“Now, Miss Massachusetts,” Cora said once Emma had hopped up onto the stool for her interview. “This is your first year with Miss United States, is that right?”

“Yes,” Emma answered smoothly, wondering if the sweat gathering at her hairline would show on camera. Those stage lights made the surface of the sun look cool in comparison. “And after my Tarzan moment, I think it’s probably going to be my last.”

“Quite,” Cora murmured, the remark swallowed by audience laughter. “Now, some people--some misguided people--would claim that the Miss United States pageant is something of a relic, a leftover from a bygone age. They say it has no place in a world that has embraced feminism, for example. What would you say to those people, Emmylou?”

Maintaining eye contact with Cora and her predatory grin left Emma feeling like she was staring down Jaws. Only this time the danger was real and she wouldn’t have to wade any further into deep water to find it. If she had been 80% certain before, all doubt faded with the maniacal gleam in Cora’s eye. Emma was going to save this shitshow, and most of all she was going to see Cora locked up for life, far away from ever hurting her daughter again.

“Well, Cora, you caught me! I used to be one of them!” Emma paused for the polite laughter again. “But since I came here, since I met these bright and beautiful young women who honestly want to make the world a better place… well. These gals are my friends. And I don’t make friends easily.”

“Right--” Cora tried to press on, but Emma had other ideas.

“And if anyone--anyone on this green earth, in fact--tried to hurt any of my new friends?” Emma took a quick breath, forcing herself not to look away from what had instantly become a laser glare. “I would hunt them down. I would. I would hurt them so badly and so much that they’d wish they’d never even heard of this pageant. So yeah, it’s been really liberating for me, this whole experience.”

“Sidney’s clean,” Ruby announced in Emma’s ear. “There’s no trace of anything on him but a ballpoint pen and a cellphone. He’s squirming pretty bad, though.”

“Thank you,” Cora was barely flustered by Emma’s threat. “Emmylou Freebush of Massachusetts, everybody!”

Emma dashed off instead of milking her applause, barely listening to Leo saying he would be interviewing Regina next. She kicked off her shoes, and jogged towards the supply closet. Opening it, she was relieved to see the other agents had dragged Sidney back there to keep him contained. 

“Get talking, man,” Emma warned him. “Because I have thirty minutes, tops, to get into this evening dress and change my hair. You’re going to squeal before then, or so help me I’ll zap you in the balls with a taser, right out there on stage.”

“Well,” Gold said, slipping into the room. “There’s that mouth again. What are you, a hockey fan?”

“You showed up for the final hurdle?” Emma was genuinely surprised. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”

“Unzip, please,” Gold sighed, like they didn’t have an audience. “You can keep… interrogating, or whatever you’re doing. I went home to pick up something a little special for your final judging.”

“I’m not wearing the pale blue… thing? Also, room full of people.”

“Here,” Ruby offered, pulling her jacket off and holding it out like they were retying bikinis at the beach behind it. “It’s better than nothing. The boys will avert their eyes, won’t they?”

“Yes!” Nolan barked, turning and yanking Jones round with him. Between them they formed an improvised human shield between Emma and their unofficial prisoner.

“So,” Emma began, shimmying out of her dress. “You’ve been a hard man to track down, Mr Glass. But no more smoke and mirrors now, why don’t you give us a rundown of what you’ve been doing the past hour or so?”

“I’ve been doing my job,” Sidney drawled. “Competently, unlike you. I hear they took your badge and gun, _Agent_.”

“Don’t need either of those to kick your ass,” Emma grunted, stepping out of one torturous set of heels and almost weeping at the brief moments of flattening out her arches and pressing them against the cool stone floor; it was almost too much relief to bear. “Listen, you can save us all a lot of time by telling us what Cora wants from you. We found the little stationery experiment both of you tried out: the fake threat letters?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Emma didn’t need a superpower to hear the lie. “And if I did, then a ‘fake’ threat doesn’t sound like anything to worry about. You should be celebrating. Especially since you’re about to miss out on the Final Five.”

“You don’t know that,” Emma countered, mad at herself for the little flip of disappointment in the pit of her stomach. “Besides, if you think I care about my pageant score right now, you’re way off track.”

“Ignore him,” Gold muttered. “I’ll get you back to final-worthy. Just lets take this hair down and get a bit creative, hmm? Tell me, have you ever considered jamming your finger in a socket to give your hair more bounce?”

“Cram it, Henry Higgins. You’re the one who can work magic. Do it without electrocuting me.”

“Listen,” Jones took up the baton. “Just tell us what you were doing before our girl Ruby saw you slipping out into the night, huh? Saves everyone a whole lot of earache from Miss Swan here.”

“Right,” Emma let the jab slide, turning back to Gold only to be presented with a shimmering silk sheath that even fashion-blind and label-defiant Emma could see was a work of art. “That’s… wow.”

“Reem Acra,” Gold said, preening as he held it up into the light a bit further. “One of only two ever made in this design. And the other has vanished. This dress… believe me, you’re wearing something quite unique. I hope you know what I’m risking by letting you wear it now.”

“So you’re saying no pit stains?” Emma teased, uncomfortable at the gesture. It was almost like someone showing some faith in her, dammit. “Well, at least you went with black.”

“I’m saying if I see a burger or a doughnut within two city blocks of it, I’ll blow you up myself.”

“Fair point. Okay, can I just step in and zip up, or…?”

Moments later, Emma had the full-length dress wrapped in almost all the right places. The bold cut-out design across her back and tummy, like a bolt of lightning tied around her and exposing bare skin, felt like a second skin. Ruby dropped the jacket and turned around to finish the zipping, whistling through her teeth as Emma did an impromptu spin.

“You know,” Emma said, admiring herself in a cracked but usable mirror propped against the shelves. “I think I might finally get this whole dress up thing. I feel like… god, like a movie star. Or a princess.”

“Let’s not completely stretch the bounds of reality, dearie.”

“Bite me.”

“Oh yes, a real princess. That Swiss finishing school worked wonders, I can tell.”

“Can I go?” Sidney demanded. “Only I’m pretty sure if you were going to arrest me, someone would have done it by now.”

“We can hold you for up to--”

“On suspicion of what?” Sidney snapped. “I’m not some gofer, you know. I’m also Cora’s legal adviser. And I know a flimsy case when I see one.”

“Might want to remind your client that bombing people is still illegal, then,” Nolan smart-mouthed. “Because the longer you stall, the more obvious that is. Give us your movements for the past two hours and maybe we’ll reconsider.”

“I’ve been ensuring things run smoothly,” Sidney insisted. “Cora, when she’s hosting, needs someone she can trust backstage. Usually that would be Regina, but she’s actually competing this time.”

“What does that involve?” Jones pressed, leaning in to menace the man.

“The usual. Checking all staff are present. Ensuring the dressing rooms are stocked and that craft services are keeping the celery sticks and water fresh. Collecting the crown from last year’s winner, to--”

“Last year’s winner hasn’t been on stage yet,” Ruby interrupted. “Doesn’t she need the crown for the final appearance?”

“She gets a replica,” Sidney sighed. “Technically, her queendom ended when this event started two days ago.”

“We’ll be keeping you in here until everyone is safely off-stage,” Jones decided. “Dave, cuff him could you?”

“Dave?” Emma snorted. “Nobody calls him that.”

David shook his head at her, tight-lipped and telling her to drop it. Emma frowned at him in confusion for a moment and moved on.

“You guys just keep sweeping and asking around I guess. I need one more round of pimping my face and hair and then maybe I can help before the final section.”

“Unlikely,” Gold warned her, tapping his cane with characteristic impatience. “Can we please take this to somewhere with appropriate lighting?”

“Swan out,” she told the others with a shrug. There was nothing else left to try.

***

“Hmm,” said someone behind her as Emma grabbed a water bottle from the long tables. “I can’t say I recognize that dress.”

“Regina,” Emma turned round with a tight, professional smile in place. “It’s pretty much one of a kind, apparently. Reem Acra, Gold said.”

“He’s letting you wear something from his private collection?” Regina actually gasped, and Emma had no response to that beyond rolling her eyes. “You must have made quite the impression.”

“Either that or the whole missing fabric thing looks kinda bitching over my abs, right?”

“Right,” Regina agreed, her hand drifting for a moment, fingertips grazing the bare skin.

“Regina!” Cora came barreling across the backstage area, five-foot-something of barely contained fury in a sequined blue gown and the kind of low, comfortable heels the old movie stars used to wear. Emma realized that they were probably to disguise some kind of orthopedic supports, since a woman Cora’s age probably couldn’t get around in 4-inch Jimmy Choos anymore. For a moment, Emma almost felt like she had the upper hand.

“Cora,” Regina answered, snatching her hand back and clasping both behind her back. “Did you need something?”

“You foolish girl,” Cora scolded, reaching out and grasping Regina’s chin for a moment. “To come this close, to be standing here now, and yet again you’re slipping. For this piece of government trash, no less.”

“Hey!” Emma stepped between them, breaking Cora’s grip with a brush of her shoulder. She had a height advantage on both women and used it to her advantage. “Remember I don’t actually give a damn about this pageant before you start something, huh?”

“Agent, you’re wearing my patience far too thin. Perhaps it’s time I announced your sudden retirement and replaced you with someone from the Plains States.”

“Do it and I’ll storm the stage. Or better yet, evacuate the place. One pull on the alarm and it’s over.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I’d sue the Bureau until all it had left was Hoover’s opening budget.”

“Mother, please,” Regina muttered, still content to use Emma as a human shield. “Let’s just get this final section done with? I won’t do anything else to embarrass you.”

“See that you don’t,” Cora snapped, glaring at Emma one more time. “Best behavior. This is my big night after all.”

“How big exactly?” Emma demanded, but Cora had started to glide away again. “She really is a piece of work,” Emma added, turning to Regina, whose face had become utterly impassive again. No wonder the woman had modeled for most of her life. 

“She has a point,” Regina huffed. “Let’s just get through this, okay? We were probably wrong to start with.” To emphasize her point, she yanked the tiny earpiece from her ear and threw it right in the trash. “Have a good pageant.”

“Regina, wait--”

“Places!” Called yet another assistant. “We’re going to Final Five after commercial. Remember, big smiles, lots of applauding whoever goes through, ladies! No tears or tantrums!”

Emma tried to follow Regina, but she was corralled into her place at the top of the stage, ready to step down and show off her dress like a catwalk model. Not exactly what she expected after all those months of training at Quantico.

One more round, and then the whole mess would be over. Maybe Emma’s gut instinct was off-base after all. For once, she hoped it was actually wrong.

***

“And now, what we’ve all been waiting for… only five of these wonderful women can progress,” Cora announced, crossing the stage to stand at Leo’s side. “Leo, dear, we go back a long way, don’t we?”

“We do?” Leo joked. “I swear it was just last year you were up there taking the crown and I was presenting with my band as backup. You remember my singing?”

“It’s hard to forget.”

The audience laughed on cue, and Emma almost felt herself relaxing for a moment. Hopefully, Cora’s spite would keep her out of the last round, and Emma could waste the rest of her time doing a final sweep under the stage. 

“Aw, I don’t like doing this part,” Leo grumbled. “You think we could take turns to announce the five?”

“Very well,” Cora replied, plucking the gold envelope from his hand. “Let me start for you. The first of our final five contestants is… Miss New York!”

Tamara screamed in something between relief and sheer joy, composing herself a moment later and walking downstage like the spotlight was actually a tractor beam. Kathryn’s celebration was much longer and her walk more of a jog after Leo announced Miss Vermont.

“It seems our judges have a soft spot for New England in the fall,” Cora spoke again. “Because our next finalist is…” She pretended to lose her place on the list for a moment, the women around Emma collectively holding their breath as a result. “Miss Maine!”

Regina clasped her hands together and looked up to the ceiling, making some silent prayer or other. Her evening wear shimmered under the lights as she strolled downstage, and Emma felt hypnotized by the sway of her hips.

“We haven’t left her until last this time, because even we are not that cruel,” Leo continued. “Our very own flying sensation, Miss Massachusetts!”

Emma gasped, there was nothing she could do to help it. Even her very real shock felt fake and staged as she clutched at her hair in surprise. She’d never judge a reality contestant so hard again, because the whole thing felt bizarre. Girls who felt a little sweaty under these beaming lights didn’t get to be beauty queens. Girls who bought their off-duty clothes from sports stores and lived on bear claws didn’t get to parade in front of the world and be praised just for looking a certain way.

Thankfully, some kind of auto-pilot kicked in, and Emma made it to the front of the stage with only one stumble. With her ears ringing and heart pounding, she didn’t even hear the last finalist being called out by Cora. It wasn’t until Mary Margaret hugged Emma in jubilation that she even knew Rhode Island had made it.

“We’ll be back in just a moment,” Leo said, giving way to yet another goddamned commercial. At least this one would be short. “And when we’re back, America will have chosen her queen: the coronation of Miss United States!”

The buzzer sounded and the ‘on air’ lights went out one more time. Emma took a deep breath, crouched enough to rest her hands on her knees and waited. No words on her earpiece, just the background noises of running and doors slamming.

“Guys,” she whispered. “This is it. Someone come back and tell me I’m not about to become pink mist.”

“Should we evacuate?” Ruby asked, clear and cool-headed as ever. Emma wanted to hug her just for being there. “I can pull the alarm right now.”

“I’ve just spoken to Gold,” Jones chimed in. “Seems he took it upon himself--and his cane--to threaten Sidney into saying a bit more. He confirms that Cora wanted the pageant to ‘end in tears’ but she hasn’t shared specifics with him.”

“Shit!” Emma gasped, but the lights were already getting brighter. “You’ve got this guys. Save my life, okay?”

***

It seemed like no time at all before the chatter started up again from Cora and Leo. Emma had taken her place center stage with the other four girls and someone--Tamara, probably--had encouraged them to hold hands as they awaited the final verdict. It was a nice touch, Emma had to concede.

“Emma--” One of the guys was talking, but she couldn’t answer with a camera clearly pointing right at her face. Maybe it would look like praying, she considered, before deciding it would look a lot more like being crazy.

“Here it is!” Leo yelled, voice booming out like some big, drunk mall Santa. “The one piece of jewelry that every girl is dying to get her hands on.”

Last year’s winner came parading out, the surprisingly bulky tiara resting on the cushion she carried. Emma couldn’t remember her name, Robin something maybe, but she kept her attention on the visible part of the audience, scanning for any other accomplice Cora might have recruited along with Sidney. She caught Regina’s eye in desperation, but the other woman looked away. 

“Now Leo, let’s break with tradition.” Cora decided. “Why don’t you have the honor of crowning Miss United States in this, your very last year of hosting?”

A sympathetic ‘awww’ broke out in the audience. 

“Well, Cora, I am very touched.”

“Just like the ass of every girl that gets near you,” Kathryn muttered, and Emma had to bite her tongue not to crack up laughing. It made it just a little more depressing when Kathryn was subsequently announced as the 5th place winner, bowing gracefully before stepping back out of her spotlight. 

Tamara hung her head for a moment at receiving 4th place, but she’d already lined up at least three modeling contracts with visiting sponsors, so the real work had been done already. She high-fived Emma by leaning across Mary Margaret, and they nodded at each other in acknowledgment.

“That leaves three,” Leo said, apparently for the viewing audience who hadn’t been to kindergarten yet. “That’s the Bay, the Pine Tree and the Ocean states, for those of you playing your naughty little drinking games at home.”

“Guys?” Emma asked again through gritted teeth. Nothing. She looked across at Cora, who seemed as poised as ever. Admittedly, she had moved clear across the elevated platform and left Leo standing alone with his cushion and his microphone. That seemed a little weird, given Cora’s insistence on being the center of attention, even in a room with 49 supermodels and Emma. 

“Ask Sidney about the crown,” Emma hissed, hoping someone would actually respond. Mary Margaret gave her a weird look, wondering if Emma had lost her mind. “Cora’s avoiding that crown like it talked about her hairstyle. Get on it.”

She turned to Regina and saw that she’d overheard every word. Emma nodded towards Leo, asking a question without words. 

“Which means it’s time,” Leo kept on talking. “To award 3rd place, and our second runner-up for this year’s Miss United States. She’s a beautiful young woman, fluent in Spanish as well as English, and her future lies in the political arena… that’s right, 3rd place goes to Regina Mills: Miss Maine!”

Emma swallowed in astonishment. However the judges had been rigged, it had clearly worked too well for her to still be standing in the light. Regina bowed deeply, all gratitude and humility. Emma couldn’t help but stare as she applauded, perhaps her first genuine applause of the weekend. 

Instead of stepping back like Kathryn and Tamara, Regina walked across the front of the stage in confident strides, before grabbing the mic from Cora’s hand. The element of surprise was clearly working for Regina, and she barely hesitated before launching into her unexpected speech.

“This pageant has been my life for as long as I can remember,” Regina told the crowd that hung on her every word, waiting for the next slice of melodrama. For a moment, Emma fought the sudden dread that Regina had played her all along, and the nasty ending would come at Regina’s hand after all. “But I’ve learned lately that it’s no way to live. Never eating anything delicious, working out and spending more hours in the salon than doing anything else, even studying. I don’t want that life anymore.”

Mary Margaret took Emma’s hand and squeezed. It shook off the bad feeling, and Emma watched Regina breathe deeply, her spine straightening without going rigid, a vision in that moment that nothing else could touch. 

“There’s one other thing I’ve given up for this circuit. A part of me I’ve denied and hidden because I didn’t trust the American people to accept me for who I am. Well, that ends tonight.” She dropped the mic with a resounding ‘thud’ and a short burst of feedback. Before Emma knew what was happening, Regina had stopped in front of her, hands reaching out to gently clasp Emma’s face. 

“We only live once,” Regina told her. “And if we’re going out any minute now? I’m not going out without one more kiss.”

She was true to her word, the kiss searing from the second it landed on Emma’s lips. Somewhere in the catcalls from the crowd and the chaos, Regina actually dipped Emma, old Hollywood style. It was the single coolest moment of Emma’s dating life, and she made up her mind there and then that they were getting out alive, no matter what it took.

“Well, you don’t often see that without cable,” Leo vamped when Regina finally relinquished her grip and stepped back into the shadows. With a glance, Emma was thrilled to see Tamara and Kathryn hugging Regina, giving her the acceptance she sure as hell wasn’t going to get anywhere else. 

“Which leaves it to me to announce our first runner-up,” Cora took over, recovering her microphone with grace and a venomous expression. “Perhaps that should be flier-up. It’s our very own airborne Emmylou Freebush. Miss Massachusetts, everyone!”

The applause was loud and gratifying, but Emma nodded a few times and stepped back as instructed. Regina sought her out instantly, linking arms as they waited out the coronation.

As Leo made his way across the stage to where Mary Margaret stood, hands over her face, Emma made her decision. There was no alarm sounding, no notice from the team that they’d neutralized anything, which meant Emma’s hunch was almost certainly right. As the crown came closer, she spotted one errant piece of wire on the side, and that was confirmation enough.

“It’s my great honor,” Leo beamed at Mary Margaret with a harmless, almost paternal sort of pride. “To crown Miss Rhode Island, Mary Margaret Blanchard. She’s beauty, and of course she is grace. She’s…”

The audience supplied the refrain.

“MISS UNITED STATES!”

He plucked the crown from its cushion and Emma launched herself forward. Time stopped, she could have sworn it did, and the few steps of distance between her and a deadly, head-exploding crown seemed wider than the Pacific Ocean. Regina’s grip on her arm fell away, and Emma reached the shiny bauble just as Cora pulled something from a pocket in her dress. 

Who threw themselves at a live explosive to save women she barely knew, one of whom admittedly was the best first-time lay (and hell, maybe best overall and that was depressing at pushing 29) she’d ever experienced?

Not Emma, who was good at her job because it meant that coming home bruised was a badge of honor, not a secret to hide under ill-fitting clothes stolen from the laundry line four doors down. Who spent sixteen hours a day in the office, and maybe two more at Ruby’s bar, all to avoid going home to an empty apartment where she had never managed to keep so much as a rubber plant alive for company.

The moment she jumped, it wasn’t Emma Swan, professional law enforcement and reluctant hero. No, that leap belonged to someone determined to be a white knight on a charger, to show up for someone who also understood what it was like to have no one fighting her corner. She would save these friends of hers, but she would save Regina from so much more. Maybe it wouldn’t turn into a townhouse and a puppy and a couple of kids down the line, but something in Emma finally felt ready to try.

And how the hell could she try if they all got transformed into pink mist?

Emma grasped the platinum and diamonds (or silver and cubic zirconia, she’d never actually asked if this tacky thing was the real deal or not) and launched it towards the ceiling, Mary Margaret’s anguished cries drowned out by the blast of the pageant’s official song. As confetti rained down on them, the tiara detonated. Although the stage seemed to shake, the overall effect was no more dramatic than 4th of July fireworks, and Emma sank to her knees in relief.

Unfortunately that just made it easier for Mary Margaret to start smacking her, enraged at Emma’s apparent display of petty jealousy.

“I think it’s time we let the credits roll!” Leo told the audience, scurrying away because the fireworks overhead hadn’t fooled him. He was getting the hell out of Dodge, and Emma couldn’t really blame him.

“It was a bomb,” Emma yelled at Mary Margaret when she could stand again, getting close to her ear. Regina appeared then, holding Emma up with a strong arm around her shoulders. 

“She just saved your life,” Regina confirmed. “So for God’s sake, stop sniveling.”

“Really?” Mary Margaret asked between her sobs. “That explosion was… oh my God! Who did this?”

“Her,” Emma said, nodding towards Cora. Luckily, Jones and Nolan came rushing up behind her, cuffs at the ready. “Oh, finally. A little backup.”

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Regina murmured, leaning in to Emma. “Sorry about using you for my little coming out party.”

“I’m fine,” Emma assured her. “And use me any way you like. Once I’ve had a nap. And some carbs. Possibly not in that order.”

“You’re not obligated--”

“I want my second date, Mills. How about you scare us up some food, and I’ll meet you back at your room?”

“You want to talk to her,” Regina realized. “I don’t want to be around for that. I don’t want to see her for a really long time.”

“You got it,” Emma promised. “Scoot. I’ve got a collar to gloat at.”

She followed Jones and Nolan out to the parking lot with their prisoner, a lot quicker when they left through the fire exit. They must not have heard her following, because right before stepping outside, Jones reached out with his free hand and gave David a reassuring squeeze. On his ass. Emma was struck dumb for a moment, but her brain went into overdrive putting the pieces together. Suddenly, a lot of insignificant things made sense. 

“Wait up,” she called out, once they’d bundled Cora into a waiting cop car. “I see you got the cavalry in time.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Jones replied. “Sorry if you, you know, thought we’d bailed on you. We just realized we couldn’t do it with three people. Good save out there, Swan.”

“Can I have a word before they book her?” Emma asked, motioning towards Cora. “I’ve got something to get off my chest.”

“What do you want?” Cora sulked as the boys stepped away from the car. “I can’t believe those oafs gave you second place of their own volition.”

“Well, believe it,” Emma taunted back. “You’re going down, lady.”

“You’ve got nothing. No evidence, not a scrap of it.”

“We’ve got enough,” Emma confirmed. “And we’ll find the rest, don’t you worry about that.”

“So ungrateful,” Cora looked thoughtful as she said it. “I’ve taken you, this lesbian in Goodwill clothing, and turned you into a princess for the night. This is your way of thanking me?”

“You didn’t do this,” Emma snarled. “He might not be a saint, but at least Gold honored the deal we made. I can’t expect any more from him than that. Hope you have a great time in prison. They’re gonna love having a former beauty queen to play with.”

“You really think you’ve done a service tonight, don’t you?” Cora argued back. “Instead you’ve made us a laughing stock, and destroyed the dreams of little girls not just in this country, but all over the world. How will you sleep at night?”

“By knowing I didn’t try to blow any girls up today. How is that anyone’s dream? You wrecked it, you crazy bitch.”

“Crazy? Can you blame me? I’ve had decades of listening to them whine, and moan, and gradually turn my pageant into a tacky mess. Well, no more. Not my pageant.”

“It’s not a pageant,” Emma fired back. “It’s a scholarship program.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I think you meant to say ‘yes, yes’,” Emma corrected with a shit-eating grin. “Decorum, Ms Mills. And dignity. Always dignity.”

“Go to hell!”

“You’ll be there long before me,” Emma finished the conversation and strode off, finally able to walk confidently in her heels. Jones and Nolan called after her, and the girls inside clamored for a word, but Emma brushed them all aside and kept walking until her feet brought her to the door of Regina’s room.

If this was going to be their last night, Emma damn well intended to make it count.

***

“Emma!” Regina shook her awake. “Emma, get dressed! There’s some kind of situation in the breakfast room.”

“Situation?” Emma snorted into her pillow. “I’m too tired.”

“Cora escaped,” Regina warned her. “She’s taken hostages over there, come on!”

That was enough to spring Emma into action, pulling on a pantsuit that wasn’t hers with the previous day’s underwear. Not her classiest ensemble. She yanked her hair back into a ponytail and gratefully accepted both the shades and the cup of coffee that Regina offered her.

“You coming?” Emma asked in surprise. 

“I might be of some help,” Regina answered. “Come on, there’s no time to waste.”

***

Emma arrived to see one of the doors ajar, and she reached instinctively for her weapon, coming up empty.

“We’ll cover you,” Nolan announced, appearing behind her with Jones. They each looked through the gap in the door before deciding a plan in hand signals. Emma wasn’t remotely awake enough to understand them. 

Her next shock was Regina following Jones and Nolan into the room, sending Emma scrabbling after them. When she walked into thunderous applause, it stopped her in her tracks.

“No Cora,” Regina admitted, kissing Emma’s cheek. “The girls wanted to thank you. And I know how you feel about breakfast carbs.”

“Speech!” Tamara yelled, and the others took up the chant.

“Oh hell,” Emma groaned, but she was guided towards the little podium all the same. “I have no idea what to say,” she admitted into the mic. “I was just doing my job.”

“You saved us,” the Oregon redhead called out. “You saved our lives!”

The applause rang out again, and Emma ducked her head. 

“Perhaps,” Regina said, stepping up beside her with a silk sash in her hands. “We should start by giving you your award. You might have come second to Mary Margaret, but you’ve come first in our Miss Congeniality race.”

“Me?”

“You,” Regina confirmed. “Now here, put your sash on and be gracious for a moment.”

“Well, I won’t be wearing this to work,” Emma cracked, enjoying the warm laughter from the room. “Unless it’s also bulletproof. It’s not? Oh well. Shame.”

“I just wanted to keep everyone safe,” she continued. “I’m glad we all managed to make that happen. But I’m also grateful that when you thought I was your rival, your competition, so many of you welcomed me and helped me with this crazy pageant stuff. Seriously. You could have been real bitches, and really nobody was. So thank you, for that. And if you ever need a crime solved in Boston, well, you come ask for Special Agent Emma Swan, okay? I’ve got your back, ladies.”

“Emma?” Kathryn was the one with the question. “Since you were just fooling around this whole time, can you tell us what you would really have answered to the ‘what you want most’ question? It’s kind of a big deal to us. Sort of how we know what kind of person everyone is.”

“You know something?” Emma replied, smiling wide enough to make her cheeks hurt. “Right now? I really do want world peace. And for Regina to agree to a second date.”

“Fine!” Regina groaned, like she’d been bribed into it. When her eyes met Emma’s though, there was nothing but sheer excitement to be seen. 

“You know,” Emma said, stepping away from the podium and waving to everyone as they hurried out of the room. “My flight isn’t for another four hours.”

“You don’t say?” Regina replied. “We’ll have to find a way to pass the time. Won’t we?”

“Is that so?” Emma grinned, kissing Regina as the elevator doors slid shut.

“Oh yes,” Regina agreed once the kiss broke. “No time like the present to start working on that whole world peace thing.”

Emma smacked her lightly on the ass for that one.

“Careful there, bronze. Some of us outrank you.”

Regina tipped back her head and laughed. Emma drank in the sound, and if the world hadn’t found its peace yet, she had a sneaking suspicion that she’d finally found some of her own. 

 

FIN.


End file.
